The Sign of the Four
by Sandylee007
Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid and Sherlock Holmes met when they were younger. Dr. John Watson's disappearance brings Reid face to face with the supposedly dead detective. His team is wrapped into the hazardous spider web they can't quite understand. Will they find John? And will any of those involved make it out alive?
1. Secrets of the Dead

A/N: This idea came to me a while back and I just had to start typing.

WARNINGS: CROSSOVER FIC, blood, gore, torture, language, adult themes, weird stuff… (smirks sheepishly) Hey, it's me. What else did you expect?

DISCLAIMER: Oh, if only…! These characters visit my dreams sometimes. That's pretty much as close as I get. (sighs overly dramatically)

Awkay, now I'm stalling. (gulps) Seriously, I hope that this'll be a good ride!

* * *

**_The Sign of the Four_**

* * *

_Secrets of the Dead_

* * *

Dr. Spencer Reid was utterly exhausted when he dragged himself into his apartment, blinking sluggishly against the exhaustion three days without any sleep had left weighing him down. The case had been a hard one and all he would've wanted was a full day's worth of sleep. Fate, however, seemed to have other plans.

Spencer had barely closed the door when his cell phone began to ring. He blinked once more before gathering the coherence it took to grab the item and give it a look. He frowned upon seeing who the caller was.

_He_ never called.

Spencer hesitated for a second. Then gritted his teeth and accepted the call. "Hello?"

There was a unidentifiable sound before a male voice, colored by a British accent, spoke. "_Um… Hello. Is this… Is this Spencer Reid?_"

Alarm bells went off in Spencer's head. That wasn't _his_ voice, either. "Yes. Who am I talking to?" And what, exactly, was going on?

"_Sorry. I'm Watson. John Watson. Sherlock's flatmate._" Ah, that made sense. Sherlock had mentioned John a lot in their bizarre text message exchange. It didn't make the whole phone call any less alarming, though. Was that a sob? "_I… found your number, from his cell phone, and… I thought that I should… should call you, before… you find out elsewhere._"

Cold filled Spencer's whole body. The alarm bells from before were deafening. "What happened to Sherlock?"

Yes, John was definitely sobbing, although it sounded like the man was trying to smother the sounds. It took ages before the words actually came. "_Sherlock, he… he's… dead._"

* * *

_Three Years Later_

* * *

At the age of thirty-two Amanda Freeman, a strikingly beautiful woman with curly blonde hair and huge blue eyes, had been a high class working girl for so long that she'd long since learned certain rules. No real names. No feelings. And, most of all and foremost, full confidentiality. Whatever secrets her customers spilled during moments of heat they were hers to keep. They paid her more than enough to seal her lips.

She enjoyed her job more than she should've. But there were times when she got very, very bored. That was when her second boss came calling.

Entering a apartment she'd never seen before Amanda glanced around, not switching on the lights although every inch of her desiderd to. This was a part of their deal, a test. Failure and disobedience… were _not _options.

Amanda gritted her teeth, her steps hesitating. Her high heels sounded unnaturally loud in the non-furnitured space. "Do you… have an assignment for me?"

Her nerves were so strained that she jumped at the sound of a received text message. Dread sending chills all the way to her spine she accepted it. The second she took in the words she knew that her time was running out.

'_You let them get a hunch of you. Compromised us both. That's why I want to play a game._'

There was a security camera. Had to be. Because after exactly five steps her phone bleeped again. Precisely at the same moment she noticed a bottle that had two pills inside it, left in the middle of a empty room.

'_Choose. Live, or die? It's entirely up to you. I promise._'

Amanda shivered, her whole body filling with such cold she'd never, ever experienced before. She swallowed loudly, her eyes darting around furiously. There, in the corner, she finally saw the camera. Her eyes narrowed. "What if I refuse?" It was a miracle how biting her tone managed to sound, considering how badly her whole body was trembling.

Almost in an instant, as though her boss had been expecting such a response, a red dot appeared to dance on her unevenly moving chest. She received a one more text message. The last one.

'_I insist._'

* * *

Six hours, fifteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds later Amanda was certainly not alone, either. Three pairs of sombre, frustrated eyes stared at her body that lay on the floor of a practically empty apartment. Considering her profession she wouldn't have minded terribly even if she was alive.

Jonathan Robinson from the local police inhaled loudly, looking away from the corpse. "She took poison. It killed her in seconds." He glanced towards his companions who stood only steps away with stony faces. "Do you think she's our killer?"

SSA David Rossi nodded slowly, a deep frown appearing. "She was. But… Something's… not right here."

Jonathan blinked twice. "What do you mean?"

SSA unit chief Aaron Hotchner gestured subtly, almost unnoticeably, towards one of the room's corners. "She wasn't alone when she died."

Confused and curious Jonathan glanced as subtly as possible towards the direction. That was when he saw it. A tiny surveillance camera. A tremor crossed him. Were they still being watched? "Do you think that she was giving one of her clients a show?"

Aaron shook his head, forehead creased. "I don't know. But… When we first came in there was a scent of cologne lingering in the air. A man was here only moments earlier. Chances are that it was the one observing her."

Jonathan sighed, running a hand through his shortcut dark hair. His almost black eyes darkened still. "Whoever it was, we'll have to bring him in for questioning. We need to find out what he saw and what, exactly, she'd been doing before her death."

Aaron nodded and opened his mouth but was interrupted by David. "Aaron." There was a look of mild alarm on the older man's face. "Where's her cell phone? She doesn't have it."

Jonathan blinked twice. "Cell phone?"

"We don't know what's going on", Aaron admitted through gritted teeth, visibly hating the admission. "But something _is _wrong with all of this."

Jonathan fought the urge to snort. _Well, obviously. Three men and their killer are dead._ "What do you mean?"

David replied for Aaron, still eyeing on the woman's body. "Someone of her profession would've never handed out their cell phone willingly. It may be our only lead to the mystery man."

* * *

Back at the station Spencer gritted his teeth and inhaled sharply as the news reached him. They'd been too late. They had three brutally murdered men and their most likely suspect was dead, taking all her secrets with her.

Gritting his teeth Spencer refocused on the map of locations, time lines and clues he'd put together. A million route marks that led nowhere. But there had to be a pattern, somewhere buried into that spider web. What was he missing…?

So focused he was that he jumped at the sound of his cell phone ringing loudly. He frowned at the unfamiliar number before making the decision to pick up. "Reid."

"_Is this Dr. Spencer Reid? I'm Dr. Martin Gatiss from Memorial Hospital._" The other man cleared his throat, clearly unsure how to set his words. "_This… is highly unusual, but… I'm calling on behalf of a patient. He's determined to get in touch with you and he's getting highly agitated._"

Spencer swallowed thickly. Curiosity, or perhaps something else completely, took over in the end. "What's the patient's name?"

"_Sherlock Holmes._"

Spencer's heart skipped a beat and for a moment he felt so lightheaded that he had to take support from the nearest table. It took far too long before he managed to squeeze out the words. "I'll be on my way right now. Don't let anyone approach him until I get there. Don't try to cuff him, either – it'd be of no use. But… Be sure to have several security guards nearby. Make sure that he's kept an eye on. He'll ask you a lot of questions. Don't answer them."

The confusion could practically be heard long before the words were. "_What… What's going on here?_"

Spencer was already speeding through the hallways, his mind going a million miles per hour. This just couldn't be possible…! "The only Sherlock Holmes I know died three years ago. I don't know who your patient is but he's not good news."

* * *

When Spencer got to the hospital he was pleased to discover three security guards standing behind the door a visibly shaken Dr. Gatiss pointed for him. He flashed the guards his badge and they allowed him to enter with a degree of hesitation. What Spencer encountered upon walking into the room made him freeze dead on his tracks.

Whoever the person in the hospital bed was… he was the perfect replica of Sherlock Holmes. Apart from a far lighter hair color and a scar tainting the stranger's cheek. The sight made Spencer's blood run cold.

Then their eyes met, hard and calculating. They narrowed at the exact same time with concentration. Deductions were buzzing between them.

The man in the bed was scarred and malnourished.

Irritation – Spencer could see the other's left eyebrow twitch.

The stranger's long fingers were drumming restlessly. Too much long term exposure to adrenaline. The body had forgotten how to relax.

Bruised knuckles, results of a recent fist fight.

"They found you collapsed from a pool of blood." It took a second before Spencer realized that he was the one who'd spoken. He frowned. "Yet the only new more severe wound found from you was a bullet graze. So whose blood was it?"

The stranger's eyebrow bounced up. "I come back from the dead after three years." The british accent was thick. That tone of a voice sounded familiar. "And _that_ is the first thing you ask?"

Spencer decided not to comment further. Instead he offered the man a neatly wrapped sandwich. "I figured that you might need this."

Somewhat hesitantly the patient took the offering and began to eat slowly. Those eyes never strayed from him for longer than a second or two. It took almost a full minute before the man spoke. "You still don't believe that it's me."

Spencer's eyebrow rose. He took the chair by the hospital bed, his moves far more stiff than he would've liked. "Can you blame me?"

The man shrugged, still eyeing on him. Then began to speak. "You've grown a lot from the last time we were in contact. I can tell that you've been through a tragedy. You've been shot to the leg and it still pains you whenever the weather gets cold or damp – obviously you didn't take too good care of yourself while recovering. If I'm no stranger to substance abuse neither are you. That part of your life will never stop haunting you. Your hand still shakes whenever you're not fully focused on something. You don't get enough sleep. The nightmares keep you awake every single night. And you still write to your mother every day, don't you?"

Spencer gritted his teeth, a bit more taken aback than he would've liked to admit. He collected himself for a second before speaking. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that to convince me that the dead can come back to life", he pointed out.

The man actually smirked, just a little bit. "I'm sure that you remember precisely what my opening line was when I first texted you. I asked you if you're a terrorist. Your doctorates had me… curious."

Spencer shivered, feeling lightheaded once more. "We're going to do some tests to verify your identity. You'll be interrogated. I'm sure that you understand that. But, let's assume for a second that I believe you." He frowned, looking into those eyes and trying to see. "Why are you back now, after all this time?"

The look in Sherlock's eyes… It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Such that tore at his heart. It took ages before the man managed to speak. "John's gone missing. And…" It seemed to hurt physically to say the following words. "I'm not sure if I can find him alone."

* * *

TBC, OR NOT?

* * *

A/N: So… How's that for a startout? Good, bad, lukewarm? A bit of not good?

PLEASE, leave a review to let me know! This is my first x-cover fic EVER, so I'm really nervous right now. (gulps, and offers some pribe cookies) Awww, c'mon, one good deed per day, remember?

ANYWAYS, thank you so much for reading this far! (hugs) Who knows, maybe I'll see you again later.

Take care!


	2. Some Hostile Subjects

A/N: I'm baack, with chapter two no less. (smirks) Yay?

First, though. Woah! I honestly didn't know if this story would even be noticed. So much love… - reviews, and listings…! (beams, and HUGS) Thank you, so, so much! You can't even imagine how happy you've made me.

Awkay, before I get all sappy, let's rock. I REALLY hope that this one meets absolutely all of your expectations!

* * *

Some Hostile Subjects

* * *

If Sherlock Holmes imagined that dying was a perplexing experience coming back to life after three years was even more so. For years he lived in shadows, taking down Moriarty's web. He lived for revenge and for the constantly dimming dream that perhaps one day he'd be able to go back to the life he once knew. To the life Moriarty stole away from him. It took only one text message from Mycroft Holmes to lure him back from the dead.

'_John disappeared from my radar._'

Three weeks. Two days. Nineteen hours. Forty-eight minutes. That was how long ago he received the news.

With each ticking away moment the self diagnosed sociopath, machine, was steadily losing whatever little sanity he'd had left. Or his patience, at very least. Eighteen hours after first waking up he'd succeeded in irritating the hospital's staff enough to discharge him. Now he was stuck in a reeking interrogation room at the police station, feeling more than a little claustrophobic.

Stuck with an idiot who'd introduced himself as Jonathan Robinson. The man's eyes were slightly bloodshot and dull. Clear signs of a hangover. (_Bloody brilliant…!_) "So… You're expecting me to believe that you're a… what was that title again, private detective, or something… who _died_ three years ago?"

Sherlock's eyebrow twitched, as did his foot. If this man wouldn't disappear from his line of vision soon, he swore…! "The _title_ is consulting detective, _officer_. The only one in the world, might I add. And yes, I'm expecting you to believe that after five separate DNA-samples." His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, using all his willpower not to throw in a punch. "Now… John is missing and you're wasting his time, as well as mine. Where is agent Reid? I need to talk to people with an IQ larger than my shoe size."

Appearing uncomfortable with him leaning closer Jonathan leaned backwards in a response, folding his arms. The man's pupils dilated slightly. "You're not going to meet the FBI-agents – they have their hands full. You're dealing with me and unless you want to be actually taken into custody you'd better start to cooperate."

Feeling a vein pulsating in his head Sherlock allowed his gaze to linger, not bothering to offer explanations to a man who most likely wouldn't understand half of what he had to say. Gritting his teeth he did what he knew best. He deduced, searching for tools.

A drinker, then. Judging by the way those hands were shaking the man was in a desperate need for a new strong dose.

A smoker, too. There was no mistaking the yellow stains on the man's fingers and teeth. They'd been in this room for three hours. Oh, they must've been three hours of pain.

Was rapidly getting a rash from constantly scratching his left ring finger. There was a faintly visible ring line. Recently divorced.

The man's cologne was making Sherlock feel nauseated. It certainly wasn't something the man might've picked. A gift from children, then, a daughter was more likely to choose such a present. It wasn't a wild guess to assume that she'd go to her mother in the divorce. Hence the sleepless nights.

Constant glances towards the clock. Had made important plans and was running late. More than eager to finish with him.

Well, Sherlock was more than glad to offer relief.

Sherlock folded his arms and launched. "You're stuck with me while the others are in the middle of a murder investigation. Which means that your colleagues have just about as little faith in your _talents_ as I do. It could be your drinking. I wonder if your boss knows." He leaned closer still, knowing the effect it'd have. "Your ex-wife certainly does – I wonder if that or her lover was the reason she left you."

Seeing the way the other man's eyes changed Sherlock knew that he'd achieved the desired outcome.

* * *

Observing the room's events through a glass Spencer winced upon watching how two officers dragged Jonathan out of the room before the man would've attacked Sherlock. Yes, there was no doubt about it anymore. Spencer didn't have the faintest clue how but that man was most definitely Sherlock Holmes.

He peered over his shoulder upon hearing steps to discover Aaron approaching. "I got your message. I came as soon as I could." It was hours from when he sent a text on his way to the hospital to meet a man who was supposed to be dead. So their current case was getting more complicated just when it was supposed to be solved. The unit chief's eyes found Sherlock. "Do you think that he has something to do with the murders?"

Spencer shook his head, blinking twice. "I… have no idea." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry that I'm not much help with the case right now…"

"We'll talk more later, when the case has been dealt with." Aaron paused, seeming to think hard. "Just remember that we don't know how his return is linked to the murders. That's why he's here."

In the room Sherlock eyes rose, stared directly towards where they stood although they couldn't possibly be seen. Irritation shone in the genius' eyes. "Stop wasting time and send in someone with cognitive capacity!"

Spencer's eyes flashed and his fists balled. He'd been stalling until now but he knew what he had to do. "I'm going in", he announced. If he was the only one who'd be able to make Sherlock talk…

Aaron frowned, the unit chief's muscles stiffening. "Are you really sure about this? He may just try to confuse you."

"I know." Spencer took a deep breath, taking in the clearly extremely impatient man in the room. Seeing, observing. "But this may be our only chance."

Aaron nodded tensely. Clearly not liking the idea but swallowing it down as the only possible option. "I'll interfere if I see any need to."

Spencer barely even heard. His feet were already leading him while his head buzzed a million miles per hour. Questions, possibilities…

Sherlock didn't say a word when he entered and sat down, which alone was unnerving. Over the past three hours the longest the Brit had remained silent was thirty seconds. Spencer mused for a few moments before making his move. "I'm not going to ask how, because I know that you'd never tell me. But I need to know why."

Sherlock's eyes sharpened. It took a moment before a single word, a name, was spat out like poison. "Moriarty."

Spencer nodded slowly. He'd expected as much. After the fall and the mess Moriarty left behind even he'd been questioned concerning the connections he, a FBI agent, had with the 'fake detective'. It'd been wrenching to face the destruction of a perhaps not innocent but nonetheless a good man. "He threatened you."

Sherlock's jaw tightened. Obviously this was still a sore topic. "If I hadn't… died three other people would've." The detective's fingers fidgeted restlessly. "Since then I've been working to destroy Moriarty's web. I was almost finished when I was informed that John's disappeared." The man's eyes were full of unmasked irritation. "I've told this story five times since I woke up in the hospital. I'm sure that someone's filled you in and you have a eidetic memory. So why are you wasting time on pointless questions?"

"Because I'd rather hear the explanation directly from you." He leaned backwards, folding his arms. This was all beginning to feel surreal. "Right now you're a suspect of ordering several murders and committing to one first hand, after all."

If looks could kill Spencer would've been mortally wounded right there. The detective actually growled. "With your IQ you already know that I'm not behind any of that."

That was an opening, right there. Spencer tilted his head with a frown, trying to see. "Then who was it?"

"Sebastian Moran." Sherlock's eyes examined him, clearly attempting to pinpoint something. "So you don't know him by that name. Figures. He preferred to use his alias during the time he spent in Vegas." The detective leaned forward slightly, eyes firmly on his. "I'm sure that name Daniel Reid rings a bell."

Spencer's eyes widened. His heart forgot a beat, perhaps even two. The world around him seemed to tilt slightly. In the end his eyes narrowed.

All of a sudden he remembered something with crystal clear clarity. A pair of curious ice blue eyes, a smile that revealed a row of perfect white teeth. A large hand that took the Rubik's cube he'd just solved.

/ _"Bloody damn, kid." The man eyed on the item, clearly impressed. "You're definitely something else."_ /

"Daniel was my mother's brother. He died when I was only four years old. I didn't see him much but his funeral is one of the first clear memories I have. He can't have any part in any of this."

Irritation shone brightly in Sherlock's eyes. "_Think_, Spencer! You've got the IQ of 187 – surely you're smarter than that." There was a beat's pause, during which the frustration only grew. "Your mother is a paranoid schizophrenic and she was under the assumption that she had no living relatives. Wouldn't it have been easy for someone like Moran to convince her and those around her that he's her brother? Someone who'd come to help. I'm sure that no one even realized to ask a question."

Spencer gritted his teeth, almost able to hear the bustling outside the room. He was fairly certain that Aaron was just about to barge in to interrupt the so called interrogation. He held out two fingers so that Sherlock couldn't see the gesture – a long ago agreed sign that there was no need to interfere. The genius wasn't sure how much more information he'd be able to stomach, though. "You keep forgetting something important", he pointed out. "Daniel is _dead_."

Sherlock's left eyebrow was twitching. The man's fingers seemed to be convulsing. "Just about as dead as I am." The detective kept looking at him, appearing pleased to discover that the truth was starting to sink in. "Do you remember it, now? It was such a tragedy. He was only twenty-four at the time of that fire. Twenty-four, and there wasn't even a body left to bury."

Spencer gulped. If he really searched through his memories, really tried, he could remember. There was a phone call, a few days before the fire. Daniel was snarling, no longer able to conceal his Irish accent.

/ _"They'll lock me up forever if they find out! Do you realize that, you dimwit? You're going to help me." There was a chilling pause. "Why? Because you owe me for what I did for your sweet little baby brother. Or would you rather have lil' Jimmy find you in teeny, tiny pieces?"_ /

"It's a small world, isn't it?" Sherlock was staring at him expectantly. "So… Do you believe me now?" Somehow he had a feeling that the Brit already knew the answer.

So, instead of supplying a response Spencer frowned. It took a couple of seconds before he managed to summon the words. "How can you be sure that Moran and Daniel are the same person? Or that he's alive?"

"Because I've done my research." Sherlock's eyes appeared several shades darker than before. "And because he was the last thing I saw before I passed out and ended up to a hospital."

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to sort out his screaming thoughts. Nothing was making sense anymore. "And… you think that he's the killer we're after? That he has John?"

"No. I'm _certain_ of it." Sherlock was looking at him with hard, demanding eyes. "Are you going to help me, or are you going to be completely useless?"

* * *

Outside the room Derek Morgan gritted his teeth, his eyes flaming. "Why the hell aren't we putting a stop to that? He's messing with Reid!"

Aaron bit his teeth together as hard as he could, feeling frustration bubbling in his veins like lava at the sight of a yet another 'stay out' sign from Spencer. What the hell was going on?

What did he even know about this… Sherlock? That the man had once upon a time, before bloody _dying_, been in contact with Spencer for years. That the man seemed to know his youngest teammember's life story better than the doctor himself.

Aaron didn't like this, not one bit. And he wasn't about to let this continue much longer, no matter what Spencer was asking him to do. He wasn't about to let this stranger toy around with Spencer's head.

Aaron was just about to step in when his cell phone began to ring. He frowned at the concealed number before taking the risk and picking up. "Agent Hotchner."

"_This is Mycroft Holmes. I'm assuming that my dear, late little brother is already causing a havoc._" The voice carried a thick British accent and something that made it impossible to just hang up. "_Now, I understand that the urge to punch him and lock him up for the rest of his life is almost irresistible. But first there's something important you should know…_"

* * *

Sherlock wasn't entirely sure how long passed until Spencer left all of a sudden and the room's door opened a few beats later. He'd been wondering how long it'd take until his brother's influence would reach the country. The man in a suit who entered had a grim look on his face. "I'm SSA unit chief Aaron Hotchner. I was just approached by the British government. Apparently whatever you've been involved in has become a international operation. I was told to let you take a look at the case we've been working on." Oh, it was crystal clear just how little this man appreciated being told what to do.

Sherlock's eyebrow bounced up. His heartrate sped up ever so slightly. "What kind of evidence, exactly, did my brother offer to make you trust me all of a sudden?"

There was no softness in Aaron's eyes. "Let's not talk about 'trust' yet."

They left the room without another word. Sherlock heard a heated conversation that stopped as soon as their approaching steps were heard. He was led into a small room where a group of people who clearly didn't trust him stared back at him. The BAU team. Based on his text message exchange with Spencer it was easy to identify them all. In fifteen seconds he decided that it was all irrelevant. If this would lead him to Moran, and John…

"You're still a hostile suspect. You have five minutes, that's all", Aaron announced. "Use it well."

While the others kept their distance Spencer took a step closer. The doctor didn't actually say a word but Sherlock could practically hear a million thoughts spinning around. Each of them booming loudly.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Do shut up. You're disturbing me." (In some other situation he might've been mildly surprised by the fact that Spencer didn't see the need to point out that the younger man hadn't spoken out loud.) He looked at the crime scene photos and clues gathered so far. The tiny empty bottle beside the dead suspect. A suicide under suspicious circumstances. His eyes widened, just a fraction and only for a millisecond. "This… is for me. Moran's inviting me. He knows that I'm alive", he murmured, his chest feeling uncomfortably tight. Moran _knew_. And now…

"Looks that way." Jennifer Jareau's eyes were full of mistrust when she gave him an envelope. It'd been ripped open at least once. "This came in a few minutes ago."

Sherlock didn't bother to even wonder if whatever he'd find would turn out dangerous. All he saw was that the envelope had his name written on it. He _needed to_ know.

What he found was John's cell phone, which had what looked far too much like blood stains on it. Swallowing against the lump rising into his throat and trying to keep his hands from shaking Sherlock observed the item. One new voicemail. One new text message.

Deciding that he couldn't waste time on getting himself arrested for keeping secrets Sherlock put the phone on a speaker before playing the voicemail's message. All they heard was three beeps.

Derek frowned. "What… was that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Isn't it obvious? There's going to be three more murders that we'll have to solve before this is over. We're in a game. You're a FBI agent, are you not? Do try to keep up or you're useless." He didn't even notice the death glare he received as a response.

Unsure if he even wanted to know Sherlock took a deep breath, then opened the text message. He found a picture that'd been taken in a metro. Along with words that just didn't make sense.

"Crypted", David Rossi muttered, as though talking to himself.

Sherlock shivered with annoyance. These people were supposed to be FBI agents? "Obviously."

Sherlock and Spencer's eyes scanned through the letters with equal speed, looking for clues and patterns. Decoding. Making connections. They cracked the mystery at the exact same second. Chills ran through them both.

'_Welcome to the game, Sherlock. Now tick tock. John is waiting._'

And there, right before their eyes, the cell phone's screen went black. They didn't have the time to move a muscle or utter a sound before red numbers appeared. In a flash the numbers began to count downwards.

"Shit…!" Derek sputtered.

Sherlock swallowed loudly. Was that… panic coursing in his veins? Could it possibly be? "What a brilliant conclusion, agent."

* * *

Steven Scott was one of Sebastian Moran's most trusted men for several reasons. He was quick, effective and knew not to ask stupid questions. And he loved his job dearly.

Today it was his job to break down their by far most important catch. His green eyes flashed with delight and a devilish smirk revealed his slightly yellow teeth while he inched closer, running a hand through his reddish blond hair. "Had enough yet, doll?"

A pair of flaming dark eyes glared back at him. Interpol agent Emily Prentiss gritted her teeth so hard that it must've hurt. Then spat blood at him.

Steven sighed, calmly wiping away the blood. "Cooperation would be in your own best interest right now, agent Prentiss", he pointed out. "But I have no problem continuing with the hard way. And you look like the kind of a girl who likes it rough."

She winced and growled when he pressed his tazer to her skin and launched. But wouldn't scream. During the five hours he'd had her she hadn't screamed even once. Impressive.

"Now…" He leaned closer, almost wishing that she'd spit again so he could punish her. "Your team's been on our tails for over a month, now. What… do… you… have?"

Emily smirked. Fight still visible in her eyes. "Everything. It's only a matter of time before Moriarty's pathetic little army will go down."

Steven's eyebrow arched. "Is it, now?" He scoffed. "Here's a fact check for you. You've been here for hours. As soon as I'm done with you you're going to die. You're all alone."

Emily's eyes became hazardous. They seemed to dart somewhere behind him. "And here's a fact check for you. I'm _not _alone."

Steven's eyes widened when he saw the reflection of a gun from her eyes. But he didn't have the time to react. Through a silencer the bullet that ended his life gave nothing but a sigh.

Emily shivered while watching the dangerous, wanted criminal go down. After recovering for a few seconds she looked up to find her teammate and savior. She swallowed down the mixture of relief and stun, observing how he put his gun away slowly, as though expecting someone else to attack them.

"Are you alright?"

Emily blinked once before managing to nod. "Yeah, I'm fine. All fine." She frowned, taking in her teammate's paleness and the blood stains. The man's eyes were squinted slightly against the room's dim light. "What about you?" A reasonable question, considering that the last time she saw him he was out cold.

The man nodded, already working on her restraints. "Just a bit of headache, nothing I can't handle. Moran had left by the time I woke up, though." He inspected her injuries, wincing a couple of times but apparently not finding anything overly alarming. "Did you find out anything?"

Emily nodded slowly, staring at the corpse on the floor. Chills ran through her while she rubbed her finally loose, aching wrists. "This… is bigger than we thought. We're going to need help." She took a deep breath. She never wanted to get her former team, her surrogate family, involved. But as it was… "And I think I know who can help."

* * *

TBC, OR NOT?

* * *

A/N: The plot thickens, folks. (gulps) Just what in the world is going on? And how bad will things get before it's all over?

PLEASE, leave a note to let me know if this was any good at all! Aww, c'mon. It's almost summer and sunshine's all around. Spread the joy!

Until next time, ya all! I really hope that you'll all join in then.

Take care.

* * *

**Ally**: Oh, I'm beyond happy to hear that! (beams) I really hope that the next one turns out worth the wait.

Huge thank yous for the review!


	3. Catching Up With Old Friends

A/N: Phew! After some… intense typing sessions the new chapter is here, right on time. (grins) Yosh?

First, though, THANK YOU so very much for all your fantastic reviews, listings and love! You guys have astonished me. (BEAMS) I promise that I'll work my hardest to keep this story feel worth reading.

Awkay… (takes a deep breath) Are you ready? (Because I'm not sure if I am.) Let's roll!

* * *

Catching Up With Old Friends

* * *

For a few moments they all stared at the cell phone, at the constantly dropping numbers. A careful ear might've been able to hear the furiously hammering hearts. None of them managed to utter a word.

And then Spencer's cell phone began to ring.

The number was unfamiliar. The young genius swallowed thickly, staring at the item as though expecting it to combust spontaneously. Then picked up. There was nothing but eerie silence. "Hello?"

"_Hello to you, too, Spencer._" The Irish accent was a lot thicker than he remembered but that voice… It was Daniel Reid, no mistake. Or rather Sebastian Moran. Or whatever the hell the man's real name was. "_I see that you received my little… gift._"

Spencer was quick to gesture Aaron's way. ('_Have Garcia trace this, NOW!_') He took a deep breath before finding his voice. It came out a lot more gruff than he'd expected. "Where's the bomb, Sebastian?"

Sebastian chuckled. "_Ah, so you figured it out. Tell Sherlock 'hi' from me. I'm glad that I finally managed to get his attention, although I should've known that he'd refuse to stay dead for too long. Especially when his pet is also in the game._" There was a small pause. What… was that sound? Ticking? Beating? "_Now, the bomb isn't in the cell phone, of course. That would've been too… boring for my taste. You'll find it eventually, trust me. I'm a man of my word. But you'll have to work for it._"

Aaron re-entered the room with a nod. Penelope Garcia had worked her magic again. They had Sebastian's location.

"_Solve the tasks that I give you. With each finished one you'll receive one piece of the answer. But do hurry up. Time's ticking away, you see. You never know whose time you're wasting._" Sebastian's voice was calm and smooth as silk. "_I'm looking forward to meeting you eye to eye, Spencer. You've certainly grown up._" And the phone call ended as abruptly as it began.

For a few seconds Spencer simply stared at the cell phone, cold chills traveling all the way to his spine. His eyes wide, his heart hammering unhealthily fast. His head spinning and aching while something buried deep within tried to crawl towards the surface.

"Reid?" It was Derek's voice that pulled him out of his thoughts. There was a frown on the man's face and a protective gleam in those dark eyes. The look was that of a warrior preparing for a great battle. "What's going on?"

Spencer swallowed, feeling slightly nauseated. "We're all a part of his game, now. He won't tell us where the bomb is until we've played. There are more lives at stake."

Derek growled, eyes narrowing and fists balling. "Son of a bitch…!"

Aaron took a breath, visibly bracing himself for whatever was to come. "We have two locations, now. The metro station and the address Garcia just gave us."

"We need to be careful, though", David joined in. "The bomb may be at the station."

"No it won't." Sherlock had remained silent for a remarkably long time. Intense irritation and impatiance shone brightly in the detective's eyes. "Haven't you managed to profile him at all yet? It'd be too fast, too easy. At this point he's got all the power in his hands. He's not going to give up on it easily."

Spencer nodded. "I have to agree with Sherlock", he admitted. There was a slightly haunted look in the young man's eyes. "Moran's been planning on this for years. There will be traps, though. He doesn't want us to fail yet but he'd enjoy seeing us suffer."

Aaron nodded as well, then scanned through them all. "Dave and Morgan, we'll go to Garcia's location. Reid and JJ, you go and see the station. Moran may be toying around with us so be very careful. If what we've heard from him so far is true he's a dangerous man. Don't underestimate him."

"You're going to take me along." Sherlock's expression became steely at their disbelieving expressions. "I've been taking down Moriarty's web for the past three years. I know exactly what kind of sick individuals he left behind. I know Moran. What he's capable of, what he's made of. And let's face it, you look like you could use some help."

Derek gave the detective a incredulous look. "You're a prisoner – a suspect! We're not going to let you get involved…!"

"Morgan." Aaron didn't like it, that much was loud and clear. But the unit chief also seemed to know that he had no other choice. The man's eyes locked on Sherlock, even harder than usual. "I had a talk with Mycroft. You're right, we could use you as a consult. But you're still under suspicion, is that understood? Someone is going to be keeping an eye on you at all times."

"I'll do it." Seeing everyone's surprise Spencer shrugged. "I'm the only one who knows him." The doctor darted a meaningful look towards the Brit. "I can handle him."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, then refocused on Aaron. His fingers were already drumming restlessly. Time was ticking away…! "I don't suppose that you'll give me my gun back?"

Derek snorted. "Yeah, right… You'd end up shooting one of us."

Sherlock gave the dark skinned agent a far from impressed look. "Are you honestly lecturing someone over anger management issues?"

Aaron sighed heavily, feeling a headache settling in as the two kept bickering. This was going to be a very, very long case. He just hoped that those two wouldn't end up killing each other before it was over with. Or that any of the rest of them wouldn't punch the detective. He didn't feel like dealing with the British government again.

* * *

In England Mycroft Holmes took a deep breath, feeling a ache in the base of his skull only his brother could possibly cause. After collecting himself for a mighty moment he made a phone call. "It's been done. I persuaded them to aid, as you requested. Sherlock is helping them although I doubt that either party enjoys the idea very much." He paused when there were steps that passed by his office. "I didn't tell them of your… involvement. I had a feeling that you might want to fill them in yourself."

"_Thank you._" Emily Prentiss sounded exhausted and frustrated. "_Steven Scott has been neutralized, but Moran got away. As did Stubbs. My… comrade is after him._"

Mycroft's eyebrow bounced up. "Comrade, agent Prentiss?" How was it possible that he'd been unaware of this? Unacceptable.

There was a hint of static. "_I have to go. I'm not alone anymore. I'll report again as soon as I can._" With that she hung up.

Mycroft frowned, putting his phone away. He was usually a man who knew everything about everyone and everything. He didn't like being kept in the dark like this.

Somehow he had a very bad feeling about all of this.

He didn't like that, either.

* * *

The metro station was busy and crowded which made both Sherlock and Spencer feel uneasy. Having so many people around overwhelmed them. JJ walked beside them with stiff steps, keeping a careful eye on Sherlock and one hand constantly lingering close to her gun.

"How can we be sure that the clue wasn't just a hoax?" JJ pointed out sharply, tensing up instantly when a man passing by bumped into her shoulder accidentally. "Moran may be playing with us."

"Well of course he's playing with us!" Sherlock snarled, his voice laced with annoyance. "He's pulled us all into his game. That's why we're here."

JJ gritted her teeth. "There's a good reason why we shouldn't be playing games with psychopaths. They never end well."

Spencer barely heard the two. He couldn't explain what caused the feeling that made his chest tighten and pushed icy acid through his veins. The last time he felt that way…

He never had the time to finish that thought. For just then all three of them noticed a small, blood red arrow on the wall. They exchanged a look before, bravely or foolishly, deciding to comply. They found a small, almost isolated corner. In a matter of moments they noticed that someone was waiting for them.

Spencer's eyes widened while his heart stopped completely for a couple of beats. Suddenly he understood all too clearly what the feeling from before was about. "Ethan?"

Sure enough it was Ethan standing there, dressed to a heavy coat and far paler than Spencer had ever seen him. His friend. The same Ethan he'd been supposed to meet again since New Orleans. The same Ethan who…

Ethan swallowed before beginning to speak in a unfamiliar voice. "He… He told me that you'd come. And try to help." With trembling hands the man opened his jacket to reveal a heavily built metallic vest that had a code lock on it. That, and a timer with less than two minutes left. "Round one. If… If you don't open that lock before time runs out this… this vest will tighten, and kill me."

JJ's eyes widened. Her hand wasn't steady when she brought it to her lips. "Oh my God…!"

Spencer stared at his friend, helpless rage making his eyes sting. "Where's the code?" he demanded, for the time being ignoring the fact that his voice was thick with emotion. "He… He left it for you, didn't he?"

Ethan nodded furiously. The man almost dropped the sheets of paper he barely managed to pull out. "He… He said that you'd have to solve these."

The papers had eight equations on them. Challenging ones. And time was running out.

It was Sherlock who managed to react first. "What are you waiting for?" the Brit barked out. "The timer is counting, don't you see? So let's get to work."

* * *

The air was thick with tension when the rest of the team entered a dark house in a far from pleasant part of the city. Their steps soundless and careful, guns raised. Prepared for just about anything. If Moran was the kind of a man Sherlock had described…

Derek was about to take a step forward when Aaron's hand shot forward all of a sudden, stopping him. He frowned at the unit chief who pointed downwards with a grim expression. Chills going through him Derek glanced towards the gestured direction.

A trap wire, right before his foot.

One more step and he would've…

All three of them might've…

Their nerves strained to the extreme they tensed up and prepared themselves for anything when a sharp, ominous creaking sound was heard. They froze for a moment, all of them feeling much colder than before. The house wasn't abandoned, after all.

They met ten more trap wires on their way and none of them felt eager to imagine what might've happened if they'd been triggered. The further they got the darker the hallway became. Soon flashlights would be needed and they couldn't risk rousing attention like that. There was a reek of mould, blood and death in the air, thick enough to make them feel sick to their stomachs. A cool breeze slipped past them, making it feel like all the damned souls that'd been lost in the house had been accompanying them.

That was when they heard another creak, followed by a gasp and a chilling thud. The sounds came from a room only six steps away. The door was slightly ajar, calling out to them.

They exchanged looks, calculating the risks. In the end Aaron nodded, hoping and praying that he wasn't making a huge mistake. That he wasn't leading all three of them to their deaths.

They approached with caution, almost surprised to discover no further traps. It was like Sebastian _wanted_ them to advance from this point on. Or perhaps the man hadn't expected them to make it this far. _Or_ then the real trap was waiting for them inside the room.

First one to reach the door Derek opened it cautiously, not losing his hold on his gun for even a second. What they discovered made all of them freeze from shock.

There, on the floor, five of Moran's men lay dead. Four of them shot, one looking like he'd died of a blunt force trauma to the head. And the one who'd assumably killed them was still very much standing. Covered in cuts and bruises, shivering from shock and most likely pain, but alive. Pointing a gun at them with trembling hands, her eyes wide and wild. "Stay back!" she snarled in a voice they could barely recognize. "Do you hear me? I killed them and I've still got ammo left! I'll…!"

"Emily", Derek breathed out. Taking a huge risk the man stepped into the room that looked like a slaughterhouse, revealing himself. Hands held up. "Emily, it's us. Just us. We're here to help you, alright?"

For several moments Emily Prentiss simply stared, as though not quite daring to believe. Then, slowly yet surely, tears of relief began to shimmer in her eyes. The gun fell from her nearly spasming fingers. "What… What took you so long?"

* * *

Spencer's heart hammered while he kept looking at his friend, his buzzing brain barely daring to register the horrific situation before his very eyes. The metallic vest. The look of sheer terror in Ethan's eyes.

Ethan… He could die. All because of…

"Spencer… Help me, please…!" Ethan swallowed, clearly fighting back tears. Had the situation been different such emotional overload would've mortified the musician. "Don't let me…!"

Spencer whole body was trembling and he felt impossibly cold. He hoped that the absolute panic didn't radiate from his eyes. It was the last thing Ethan needed. "I won't", he managed. Seconds kept ticking away before his very eyes. "I… I promise."

While a visibly shaken JJ made sure that they had no audience and most likely informed Aaron of the new development Spencer joined Sherlock as the detective examined the problem before them. The equations were complicated, long and tedious. But their minds were already working through them in this bizarre, wordless synchronisation. Like they'd discovered a form of telepathy. Slowly yet surely numbers began to form.

Sherlock's eyes widened with realization when the final number appeared right before their eyes. Spencer frowned at the series of numbers while the Brit's eyes narrowed. "The son of a bitch…", the detective hissed. The emotions in those eyes were impossible to read. "That's John's birthday."

* * *

While Spencer began to roll the numbers into his trembling, horrified friend's death trap Sherlock felt the hair in the back of his neck rise. Someone… was watching. His eyes narrowing and his whole body filling with a all too familiar rush of adrenaline he peered over his shoulder.

There, in a corner that JJ couldn't possibly see, stood a man with brown hair and pale blue eyes. Rupert Stubbs. Moran's right hand man, one of those top dogs Sherlock hadn't managed to get his hands on yet. There was a sickening, icy smirk on the man's face as the criminal turned and disappeared.

Making sure that the FBI-agents were preoccupied Sherlock moved to follow Rupert. That man was quite possibly his only link to finding John. He wasn't about to let the bastard get away.

* * *

Spencer barely even noticed that Sherlock had slipped away. All he knew was that he had only twelve seconds to roll in the numbers and his hands were shaking. All he had to do was to feed the code but time… It was slipping right through his fingers.

"Spencer…" Ethan's voice was trembling almost pitiably. The man… Gosh, how he was shaking…!

Spencer swallowed thickly, his eyes stinging. Only three numbers left but time… "I know."

"Spencer." All of a sudden the fear was gone. Ethan's voice… It was almost empty. That of a man who'd accepted their fate. The timer hit zero, just when there was only one number left. "This isn't your fa…" And just like that the voice died out altogether.

The vest tightened, sealing Ethan into its deathly embrace that caused a sickening crack, and the man fell.

Spencer didn't know that it was his voice screaming.

* * *

It didn't take Sherlock long to reach Rupert in a empty, shadowy maintenance hallway. It also didn't take long before he heard a gun's safety being clicked off and turned to meet the metallic item pointing at him. Those eyes staring at him were even colder than before. "You just couldn't stay dead, could you? You'll regret it."

Sherlock gritted his teeth and balled his fists. He barely even registered the gun. It didn't matter – all that mattered was… "What the hell have you done to John?"

Rupert ignored him. "Moran said that you'd be too curious to keep yourself from coming. Too insistent to find your missing heart. I didn't believe him." The man smirked, revealing a row of yellow teeth. "Wasn't the first time I've been wrong."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed while he straightened his form, his eyes never straying from the metal pointed at him. His body was already preparing for a battle he might or might not win. "Where… is… John?" he repeated in a hiss.

Rupert smirked. "Oh, don't worry." The gun was leveled to a slightly more lethal position. Those eyes locked directly with his. "He'll join you soon enough."

Sherlock's lips opened. Opened, although he had absolutely no idea of what'd come out. He never got the chance to say a word.

Because at that very moment Rupert fell. Eyes glazed over, blood flowing from a gunshot wound directly on the back of the man's skull. Dead as a stone.

For several moments Sherlock stared, his eyes wide. His brain, for just once, unable to comprehend what happened. Who…?

Slowly, slowly he raised his eyes from the corpse. At first the figure standing quite far away was hidden by the shadows. But then, slowly, his savior took a single step closer, allowing some light to shine on unnaturally pale face. Those eyes were wide, full of shock and disbelief. And very, very familiar.

Sherlock was almost sure that his own heart stopped beating for a couple of seconds. He swallowed thickly before managing to breathe out the name. "John…?"

* * *

TBC?

* * *

(To those wondering... Ethan is that friend of Reid's from 'Jones', season 2. The jazz musician who first addressed Reid's... _problem._)

* * *

A/N: Poor Reid! (winces) And somehow it seems that this is only going to get worse… But at least John's back. We'll see just how the long awaited reunion goes… (gulps) What's Moran's next move?

PLEASE, leave a note! Let me know if you think this is going sky high or right down towards the virtual trashbin. It's summer, people. How would a little ice cream sound as a encouragement…? (smirks)

Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll join in then.

Take care!

* * *

**Guest** (1): Ah, I sure will. I'm thrilled to hear that you've enjoyed the story thus far so. (beams)

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

**Guest** (2): It's a joy to hear that, you know? (grins from ear to ear) 'Hope you won't be disappointed with the next one, either.

Monumental thank yous for the review!


	4. Collateral Damage

A/N: Hiya there, folks! This chapter came out like a bolt of lightning when it decided to. (grins) We'll see what the final product turned out like…

First, though. THANK YOU, so much, for the reviews, love and support you've shown this lil' thing! This is my first fic that throws in two fandoms at once, so your support means A LOT to me. (beams, and hugs) Thank you!

Awkay… I suppose that it's time to get going, eh? I really hope that you'll enjoy this bit.

* * *

Collateral Damage

* * *

Dr. John Watson stood absolutely still, his feet pressed firmly to the floor in a position that provided him the steadiest possible shot and not daring to lower his gun. He didn't lower it although his head was spinning in a way that didn't make it safe to be in possession over any firearm. He stared, and stared, his haunted, sleep deprived eyes wide and wild.

Stared at the dead man who stood right in front of him, looking back like _John_ was the ghost out of the two.

Time stood still for who knows how long until it resumed unexpectedly, startling them both. While Sherlock took one step forward John backed off the same amount, his heart and blood rushing with such speed that he wasn't sure how much longer his body would be able to take it. Noticing that they'd reached a standstill they froze once more, their labored breaths the only sounds heard in the isolated space. John still didn't lower his gun.

Sherlock… was there. Really there. John knew because he'd seen the man in brief hallucinations often enough to be able to tell the difference. Even thinner than before. Dangerously pale. Hair a great deal different. Eyes full of all the nightmares they must've faced over the past three years. Haunted, but alive and breathing.

"… Sherlock…?"

* * *

Sherlock's head was spinning while he stared at his best friend. Barely daring to believe his eyes. Barely daring to _breathe_ in fear of breaking the illusion. He didn't even notice the gun pointed right at him.

John… looked different. Thinner, and despite the new layer of muscle a great deal more fragile than he'd remembered. A haunted man, as could be told with just one look into those eyes. The doctor's black t-shirt revealed all the new scars on the man's arms. All of the injuries weren't old. Sherlock was able to spot a disturbing amount of new wounds and bruising. There was a fresh cut on the smaller man's forehead and a dark spot on the shirt that suggested there was a wound that should be tended sooner rather than later.

This… wasn't the man he left behind.

What the hell happened during the past three years – where had John been?

What _the hell_ happened?

Was this… his fault?

Sherlock's lips opened but whatever he had in mind disappeared when John breathed out. Despite the fact that it was barely audible that one sound swept all else away. "… Sherlock…?"

After a stilled second Sherlock nodded slowly, as though afraid that anything more dramatic might shatter whatever was wavering between them. "John, I…" _I'm sorry._ The words just wouldn't come, no matter how much he would've wanted to utter them. Wouldn't come although he meant them from the bottom of the heart that he wasn't supposed to have.

Nothing happened. In the end Sherlock decided that one of them would have to break the haze. Taking a huge risk Sherlock stepped forward, slowly, uncharacteristically cautiously. This time John didn't move away from him. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or bad.

John's eyes were sharp and full of mistrust when Sherlock paused right before the smaller man, carefully placing his hand on the gun between them and making the doctor lower it. John's hand shuddered but there was no resistance. Perhaps the former soldier was too far gone into a shock to fight back. The man wouldn't look at Sherlock anymore.

Feeling like a ton's weight had been planted to his shoulders Sherlock swallowed, not liking the bitter taste in his mouth. What was he supposed to say? "I… I'm back, John."

For the longest time there was no response. He wondered if John even heard him. Then, so swiftly that he didn't have a second to prepare himself, a firm fist was slammed right at his face.

* * *

Not all that far away Spencer couldn't stop shaking as he sat on the metro station's floor. He felt sick to his stomach and his heart was impossibly heavy in his chest while he observed how Ethan's body was processed by forensics. There were no tears in his eyes. They'd come later, when the shock had faded away a little.

He shivered upon feeling a hand on his shoulder. There was a sad look in JJ's eyes. "I… I'm so sorry, Spence."

Spencer nodded and looked away, wishing that he'd had the strength to lay his hand on top of hers. He managed to draw a hint of comfort from the feel of her soft touch. At the moment it'd have to do.

They both tensed up when Spencer's cell phone bleeped as a sign of a new received text message. They shared a look before the young genius braced himself and gave the message a look. What he discovered sent chills all the way through him.

'_So you were too late. How unfortunate. But let me assure you, the game is by no means over yet. We'll see how many other innocent ones will be lost. And do try to find the bomb in time. Seconds are ticking away, you see. You'll receive the first clue in five seconds._

_Two rounds left, Spencer. And then the final game._

_S.M.'_

As promised the cell phone bleeped again in exactly five seconds. It was a picture. One third of a photograph. Spencer could see a very beautiful park and a small part of a bench, as well as some people passing by.

"Spence?" JJ's voice was a touch higher than usual. "Was it Moran?"

Spencer nodded, still not trusting his voice. Feeling disconcertingly numb he handed the item to his friend. She gave the messages a look, then squeezed his should comfortingly before walking away, most likely to update Aaron. Spencer barely noticed. All that fit into his head was the sight of Ethan's body in the hands of strangers.

He'd already failed one of the few friends he had. He wasn't good enough, fast enough, not even with Sherlock's help. He couldn't stop himself from wondering just how much more he'd lose until this whole nightmare would be over.

* * *

Aaron swore under his breath when the phone call ended.

"Hotch? Was it JJ?" Derek's voice was full of alarm, as though the man had already known. "What's wrong?"

Aaron gritted his teeth. Then spat out the sour words. "We lost Ethan."

Emily gasped, Derek cursed loudly and David sighed. In the end it was Emily who spoke. "What next?"

Aaron sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. "Now… Now we'll go back to the police station and regroup. Moran has made it very clear that his game isn't over yet. We need to prepare ourselves for the next round."

* * *

Their regrouping at the police station was a chaos. Silent gestures of support for Spencer. A round of introductions when they finally noticed that John had joined them. Inquiries if the two of them and Emily were alright. Overall chaos and emotional overload. Emotional overload none of them was quite ready to handle, that they wouldn't have had time for.

Aaron was the last to return to the room, having once again been approached by Mycroft Holmes. His head was hurting and the room's loaded air did nothing to improve his mood. He gritted his teeth to hold back a sigh.

Emily gave Spencer a brief hug and whispered something to the genius' ear. There was a flicker of something absolutely heartbreaking in the young man's eyes before the doctor finally managed to nod. Furious blinking erased the moisture that'd almost been forming into those eyes. Now wasn't the time to break down, not yet.

Unable to bear the sight any longer Aaron refocused his attention on Sherlock, who stood in front of a window with his arms folded, staring out with solemn eyes. The unit chief couldn't help wondering if the younger man was troubled by the loss of a game or the loss of a human life. There was a rather magnificent bruise forming on the detective's cheek. Aaron's eyebrow arched.

"Any news on Moran?" The unfamiliar male voice caught him off guard. Tensing up Aaron looked towards his right to notice a blond haired man with pale, stony face sitting stiffly on a visibly uncomfortable chair. The stranger was massaging his temple with ginger fingers, as though suffering from a headache.

"No." Aaron frowned. "And you are…?"

The other man appeared embarrassed. "Pardon me." The unit chief was almost sure that he saw the hint of a limp when the stranger made his way to him, hand outstretched. The other's grip was firmer than he'd expected. Judging by the bruising on those knuckles it began to clear out where Sherlock got his bruise from. "I'm Dr. John Watson."

Aaron nodded, pieces sliding together. "Unit chief Aaron Hotchner." The frown from before returned and deepened while brand new questions began to surface. "I've understood that you're Holmes'… friend. Are you… a part of Prentiss' Interpol operation?"

"Technically, no." John's eyes hardened slightly, became distant, when the doctor retreated to far from pleasant memories. "After Sherlock's fall I… tried to start again." The man swallowed loudly and shivered, folding his arms. "A year ago I came across what was left of Moriarty's web. I've been after it ever since."

"So it was you." It was most likely the first and last time Sherlock Holmes looked and sounded so very baffled. The detective's eyes had widened a fraction when they stared at his friend, as though facing a stranger. "Sometimes my… targets were already handled when I got there."

John nodded, not even looking at the genius. It took a deep breath before the man was able to continue. "I was after them alone first. But five – or was it four? – months ago I crossed paths with Emily."

Seeming to notice that the doctor was quickly running out of energy Emily took over. "Interpol had been on to Moriarty for a long time but had no solid proof. After his death his web became… reckless. I and seven other agents were sent after them."

It was incredible, really. All three of them – Sherlock, John and Interpol – had been after Moriarty's legacy. All of them working without knowing of each other. Unbelievable.

Aaron blinked several times before coming to think of something. "Why did Mycroft Holmes think that Dr. Watson is missing? Doesn't he know that…?"

"No, he doesn't." John's voice, kind as it was, carried a touch of venom. Clearly Mycroft wasn't someone the doctor thought too highly of. "And I'd rather keep it that way." The man cleared his throat, flashing them a tight, polite smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me… I need some air." With that the doctor left the room. The limp was definitely there.

Something that couldn't be named took over Sherlock's eyes. After a few seconds the detective moved to follow his friend. Only to be stopped by Emily's hand. "Sherlock, no. Give him some space, alright? You don't know…"

Just one look from Sherlock said it all. Emily sighed, defeated, and let the tall man go. Almost as soon as the door had been slammed closed Spencer's cell phone began to ring. It was Moran.

Aaron took his own phone and called Penelope. She picked up instantly. "_Already on it, bossman._" Perhaps she'd be able to trace Moran again. Perhaps this time there'd be more than dead men and traps waiting for them.

Spencer gritted his teeth so hard that Aaron heard it easily before picking up and putting the phone call on a speaker. "Time for another round?" the genius hissed through his teeth.

"_Now, now, there's no reason to be so hostile. After all, you wouldn't want me to become uncooperative, would you?_" Moran's voice was smooth as silk, almost purring. It was easy to detect how much the man was enjoying all this. "_My most sincere condolences for your friend, Spencer. But I did give you the chance to save him. We'll see if you and the… crew will be more efficient this time with the new additions._" There was a strange sound, right there. Bleeping? Ticking? "_Now hurry up. I'll see you soon._" There was a pause. "_Oh, and agent Prentiss? If you're listening… You cost me several valuable men. Stay sharp or I'll cost you yours._"

The phone call had barely ended until a text message arrived. With a frown Spencer opened the picture. Some color drained from the genius' face.

"Reid?" Most likely instinctively Derek took a protective step closer, eyes on the cell phone's screen. "Do you know that place?"

Spencer nodded slowly. "Yeah… That's the park where I go and play chess sometimes. He's been watching me long enough to know the places where I like to go."

* * *

It didn't take Sherlock all that long to find John. The smaller man had slumped to seat a couple of hallways away, face buried into his hands but not crying. Gasping for air, visibly struggling to keep himself together.

At that moment Sherlock did something completely foreign to him. He hesitated, enough to halt a step away. It took several seconds before he found his voice. "It was for you, John." If he wouldn't be able to make the doctor understand that much… "I did it all for you." He didn't recognize his own voice. He didn't care.

John exhaled a ragged breath. The words were barely audible at first. "… you think that I haven't figured that part out by now? God, Sherlock, you…!" Another breath. Was that… a sob? "Three years, Sherlock." The volume was rising steadily. "_Three bloody years!_"

_I'M SORRY!_ Still the words wouldn't make it out. The frustration turned into acid on Sherlock's tongue. "Do you think that I don't know?" he spat out. "That I haven't counted the days? These three years… They've been a nightmare, John! Do you honestly think that I don't know how long it took?"

"No, you _don't_." Finally John looked at him. Those eyes didn't have any tears. Instead they were full of something far more unsettling. "You… don't have any idea, Sherlock. Because you didn't lose your whole fucking world right in front of your eyes twice."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. Something about those words sent cold shivers through him. "John, what…?"

He never got the chance to finish for just then Emily's voice called out. "Hey, you two." Her eyes were pure steel. "Moran's launched the second round. Do you want to come with us?"

They followed without saying a word, side by side just like once upon a time. Only, nothing was the same anymore. And Sherlock wondered just how many pieces of this whole puzzle he was missing.

* * *

The extended team took two cars. Considering the circumstances everyone agreed silently that it was the safest to place Sherlock and John to separate vehicles. There was no room for the confrontation building up underneath the surface. Derek was more than glad to join the British doctor. Yes, John was a stranger but he didn't feel like punching the calmer Brit every five seconds.

While Aaron and David occupied the front seats, absorbed into a half murmured conversation, Derek and John tried their best to process what, exactly, was going on. A heavy, thoughtful silence lingered for a while until Derek found his voice. "So… You were Sherlock's… flatmate. And friend."

"Yes." John appeared slightly amused while taking in his expression. "You're not the only one who looks surprised by that."

Derek took a breath, focusing on the landscape outside. He wasn't entirely sure how to voice what he had in mind. In the end he chose the most likely clumsiest option. "I just… find it hard to imagine how the two of you would get along. You're so different."

One corner of John's mouth twitched but the doctor didn't quite smile. "No, we're not, deep down. He's… complicated. Infuriating. Downright mad. Frankly I'm surprised that none of you punched him before I did. But I once stood on his grave and told him that he's the best man I've ever met. And I meant it." The man sighed, appearing exhausted all of a sudden. When was the last time he slept? "It's… hard to explain. In some ways we're at the opposite ends of the spectrum, but somehow it just… works. Before he… left it was the two of us against the criminal world of London. It was… brilliant. God help me, I enjoyed it. I've missed it." The doctor's eyes became hard, pained. "Don't get me wrong, I'm still furious with him. I'm not sure if I'll ever forgive him. But… That bloody git jumped off a building to save those he cares about. If that doesn't make a hero out of him then I don't know what does."

Derek had no idea of what to say to that. So in the end he said nothing at all. For a few moments it was silent, with the two of them caught in their thoughts once more. Again it was Derek who broke the silence. "So, the two of you…" He cleared his throat, his fingers drumming with discomfort. He made sure that Aaron and David were still talking to each other, unable to hear, before he actually asked. "Are you just friends, or…?"

John smiled, just a little but truly and honestly. The sight was welcomed for Derek had a feeling that it was ages from the last time the doctor smiled. "You're not the first one to ask that, either."

* * *

In the other car Spencer and Sherlock occupied the backseat while JJ and Emily sat up front. All facts and information had been exchanged. Plans had been made. Now all they could do was wait and see what'd unfold.

Spencer wasn't happy with the silence that lingered in the vehicle. It gave him far too much time to think, remember and feel. To relive Ethan's death over and over again, to wonder what Moran had in store for them this time.

Sherlock, of course, noticed. The detective actually thought for a moment before speaking. "What happened to Ethan… It was unfortunate."

Spencer's eyes softened while he nodded slowly. He knew Sherlock well enough to take those words as the best condolences the man could come up with. He needed to change the topic, though. Now wasn't the time to grieve, to let emotions take over. He cleared his throat and wiped nonexistent moisture from his eyes. "Does your cheek hurt?" Because it sure as hell looked painful.

Sherlock's eyes darkened and shoulders slumped. The man's jaw tightened. "I'm fine."

Spencer gritted his teeth, feeling a jolt of ache while memories he would've much rather buried pushed their way towards the surface. "Look, Sherlock… Where John is, right now… I've been there, once." He shared a pointed look with JJ and Emily through the rearview mirror. "It hurts. To be lied to, to not be trusted. For a long time I was sure that I'd never forgive it."

Sherlock emitted a gruff sound. "Well, that was awfully helpful."

Not deterred, Spencer went on. This time the look he gave JJ and Emily was different. Softer. "But that hurt will fade and he'll realize what's important. You'll just have to be patient and give him time."

Sherlock glared at him. "We both know that I'm not a patient man."

Spencer sighed, unsure if he wanted to smile or roll his eyes. "Look… Do you remember how we first came into contact, back then?"

"Yes." Sherlock sounded suspiciously lot like a pouting child. "You solved one of those codes sent to my web site before I had the time to look into it. You typed that someone at the academy showed it to you and you wanted to help."

One corner of Spencer's lips twitched upwards, just a little bit. Some of the suffocating weight that'd been sitting on his chest since Ethan's death eased. "I solved it before you could, you mean?" Seeing to look on the detective's face he decided not to poke further. "You countered with doing research on me and afterwards asking me if I'm a terrorist. I have a feeling that it wasn't the most common way to start years of communication." He took a breath, wondering how to express what he had in mind. "My point is… People like us don't make friends easily. And I wouldn't need my years as a profiler to notice that John is something special to you. So be patient with him."

Sherlock didn't utter a sound. But something had changed in the detective's eyes. Perhaps some of what Spencer said made it through to that thick skull, after all.

The journey was completed in a companionable silence. Spencer's heart hammered while they parked. All of a sudden it was nearly impossible to chase away the feeling of impending doom.

They entered the park prepared for absolutely anything, each keeping a careful eye on their surroundings. What they discovered, however, captured all their attention. Spencer froze, his eyes widening and all breath leaving him.

There, in front of one chess set only steps away, sat Elle Greenaway. Visibly tired, painfully thin, pupils slightly dilated, her hair cut a lot shorter than before. She had a unreadable look on her pale face. And there, before her, they saw three bottles that appeared exactly like those they ran into during the case that led them to Sherlock, to this point.

Each bottle had one pill inside.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh great… It's getting even worse… (winces) We'll see just how bad it all gets until this story is over. Let's hope that they won't lose another round.

PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know what you thought of this one? Good, bad, didn't make you tick any way whatsoever? Ya know how to reach me. (winks)

I'll be traveling a bit over the next couple of weeks. Which means that I'm not 100 percent sure that I'll be able to provide timely updates, since in my opinion you guys deserve far more than hastily put together, only half-ready bits. (groans) I'll do my best to work efficiently though, you can be sure of that. (gives apologetic looks and some 'I'm sorry' cookies)

Until next time, folks! I really hope that it'll be on time and that you'll be staying tuned for it.

Take care!

* * *

**Guest**: I'm REALLY excited to hear that. (grins from ear to ear)

Monumental thank yous for the review!


	5. Pick Your Poison

A/N: Guess what? I managed to create a timely update for you guys. Yay?

Before that, thought… Thank you so much for the love, support and reviews you've given this story! (beams, and hugs) It means a lot, especially since this is my first crossover story. So thank you!

Awkay. (takes a deep breath) Are ya ready? I really hope that this bit meets all of your expectations.

* * *

Pick Your Poison

* * *

The air was full of electricity and thick with emotion while the people gathered around the chess set stared at each other. The BAU-team meeting their lost family member for the first time in years. All of them taking in the inevitable.

Elle swallowed loudly. "He… He didn't tell me the rules", she explained in a voice that even those of them who'd known her before couldn't recognize. "But he said that you'd come, before the time's up."

"Did he hurt you?" Spencer wished that he would've had better control over his voice. That he wouldn't have sounded like that terrified little boy he'd fought so hard to leave behind.

Elle never got the chance to respond. Sherlock did it for her, his eyes narrowed and a unimpressed look on his face. "No, he didn't hurt her. Not yet. So far she's managed to satisfy his needs."

Spencer felt like he'd been kicked to the stomach. His teammembers stiffened and shock lingered in the air, so heavy that it was nearly suffocating. They'd all seen that Elle was fast on her way down. But this, actually working for a criminal…?

_No…!_

But she didn't say a word to deny the accusation and the trapped look that appeared to her eyes spoke volumes. Sherlock's jaw tightened, those eyes sharpening while deductions spun around. "How long have you been working for Moriarty's web? Three years, four? It must be about the same amount of time you've been using."

A tear, just one, traveled down Elle's ghostly white cheek. Her whole body was trembling, either from withdrawal or fear. Or perhaps something beyond either one of those. Her eyes were full of naked despair when they found Spencer's, focusing just on him. As though a part of her had still trusted him in this hopeless situation, even after everything. "Things… They're not what…"

This time she was interrupted by the sound of Spencer's cell phone. High on shock and adrenaline the whole group jumped slightly. It took far longer than it should've before Spencer managed to pick up and direct the call to a speaker. "We're here." He sounded out of breath. It didn't matter.

"_Good, good. It's always nice to be reunited with old friends, isn't it? Now… Let's start this round, shall we?_" Moran's voice was almost purring. So satisfied that it sickened him. "_Elle, darling, why don't you show the agents and our British friends what's been written to the bottom of those bottles? I've decided to invite three lucky ones to this game with lovely Miss Elle._"

With a nauseated look on her face Elle did as ordered. Reading the names Spencer felt his heart pause for a second. Unpleasant possibilities sped through his brain.

_Spencer. Sherlock. John. Elle._

Sherlock stiffened and balled his fists. John gulped so loudly that Spencer was able to hear it. There was a bustle of activity behind and around him while the team of experienced agents reacted the best as they could against the threat that'd presented itself. Spencer himself felt all of him still for a endless moment. Sometimes he absolutely hated being right.

"_Sherlock, I'm sure that you're familiar with this game. But to make it fair on the others let's go through the rules, shall we? Besides, I've made some… adaptations. Sticking to a pattern is simply too dull._" There was a pause that succeeded in making the group's tension grow. "_This version of the game is for two pairs. One good pill, one bad pill. Life and death. Now, here's the catch… Which one of each pair would I wish to spare? Profile. Deduce. And when you're done… Choose which one swallows which pill._"

* * *

After those ominous words Aaron shivered as his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. The text message was from Penelope. His heart rate sped up at the words.

'_Located Moran. He's in the warehouse right next to you._'

Not wasting a second he signaled Derek, David, JJ and Emily. Alarmed they came closer and read the message. In an instant determined looks appeared.

Guns prepared and their hearts full of a fool's hope they set off towards the warehouse, hoping that they'd be able to stop this round of Moran's sick game before it was too late.

* * *

Sherlock gritted his teeth, unable to look away from John although he would've wanted to. He could still remember the thrill of the first time he played this game, with just his own life on the line. Back then he wanted to _know_, so badly that the desire nearly suffocated him. Now… For the second time in his life he came reluctantly to the realization that he had far too much to lose. No matter how badly he craved the excitement this price was too much to pay.

He took a breath before speaking through his teeth. "And if we refuse to play this game of yours…?"

"_Do you see those two children playing there, right across the road? A little girl and a little boy. I have the perfect aim. Refuse, or attempt anything unwise… and I'll put a bullet into each child's head._"

The four of them exchanged trapped looks. They didn't want to play with Sebastian. But they also couldn't let children die. Sherlock also couldn't let John die. Even the thought was simply unacceptable.

But it seemed the decision was out of his hands. Sherlock had barely finished his deductions when John already had one pill between two of his eerily steady fingers. _Sherlock's_ pill.

The detective's jaw tightened while something he still wasn't used to experiencing overcame him. His thoughts buzzed a million miles per hour, not managing to come up with anything even remotely pleasant. "So you've made your choice?"

John's eyes were even more solemn than he'd remembered them. They'd always looked like they'd seen too much, but now… Now, it felt like something had gone missing. Like a light had been switched off. "He had me, Sherlock. And he let me go. For some reason he chose to let me live although according to all sense he should've just killed me." Somehow the doctor sounded… disappointed, almost. Like he might've _wanted to_… "He wanted me to live. I know that he still does. And I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of letting Moriarty's web kill you all over again."

Sherlock's heart was hammering impossibly fast, much like what felt like ages ago when John opened his jacket to reveal a vest made of explosives. Hard as he tried he had a feeling that some of the infuriating emotional overload showed on his face, in his eyes. "And you're so sure about that so called deduction that you're willing to risk my life as well?" It was a low blow but he was willing to do _anything_ to…

John offered him a tiny, feeble smile. "I can tell that you came to the same conclusion. And we both know that you don't make mistakes with such things." Before Sherlock could even inhale a proper breath the smaller man had already swallowed the pill without much more than a blink.

Sherlock's whole world simply stopped. Completely. Absolutely. "You idiot…!" He didn't even notice how his voice cracked, just a little bit. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"BECAUSE IF YOU'D DIE AGAIN I'D HAVE NOTHING LEFT IN THIS WORLD TO LIVE FOR, ANYWAY!" John swallowed hard. The man's whole body was stiff, prepared for a invisible onslaught. "Do you… remember, when you asked me what my last thoughts would be?" Were those tears? "A while ago I lay on a street with a bullet hole in my chest. And I thought 'Hurry up already'."

* * *

Spencer was trembling to his very core while staring at the pills. He knew that Sebastian wasn't through with him, that the man wasn't ready to kill him just yet. So did Elle.

Their hands reached out but Elle was faster. Her eyes appeared suspiciously moist while she stared at him, holding the bottle with her name on it so hard that her knuckles turned white. "Reid, I… I just wanted to tell you that… that I'm sorry, okay? For the way I… treated you. For leaving. For everything."

Grabbing the other bottle Spencer felt all too clearly that his eyes weren't dry, either. His hands were so unsteady that he had no idea how he'd be able to hold the pill. "It's… okay", he whispered. His voice was pathetically feeble. "You're forgiven." He could've tried to tell her to change her mind. To tell her not to do it. But he knew that he'd waste his breath.

Elle snorted but it sounded more like a sob. "You don't even know what I've done." With those words she swallowed the pill, fast and without a touch of hesitation. A single tear, no more, rolled down her dangerous pale cheek. It took what felt like a tiny eternity before she spoke. "Death… It isn't so bad."

"No", Spencer confirmed softly. Underneath the table he reached out a hand, took hers. She squeezed back almost desperately. He kept looking at her eyes although it took all his willpower to not glance away, to not break down in tears. "It's not all bad."

Elle smiled. Bravely, like the woman he used to know, for a moment. "Thank you."

Spencer blinked twice and frowned. It was pathetic, really, how his usually thundering train of thought froze completely right then. "For what?"

"For still being you."

Spencer felt choked but smiled anyhow. Smiled even though tears were beginning to leak. "I wouldn't know how to be anyone else."

"_While this is all very touching I'm starting to get impatient._" Moran's voice carried a hazardous edge. "_You _all_ must swallow a pill, remember? Now tick tock, Spencer._"

The bottle opened far more easily than Spencer had anticipated. Actually taking the contents proved to be much harder. He had already lifted the pill to his lips. No matter what it might do to him he was fully ready to swallow, for the sake of those children. He never had to. "_Alright, then. That's quite enough._" Moran… was laughing. "_You should see the looks on your faces. Honestly, Sherlock, I'm disappointed. The three of you are… valuable. Did you really think that I'd want to cut this wonderful game early?_"

Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously. "Obviously, I didn't." The baritone was smooth as ever, devoid of all emotions. The man's gaze shifted and landed on something behind Spencer's shoulder. Only the screaming voice of his reason kept him from taking a look of his own. "Of course these pills weren't the actual round. They were merely a poor distraction. So, Moran…" Those eyes darted around, searching, prepared. Spencer was doing the same, a careful hand reaching out towards his gun. The detective's voice was deeper than before as it went on. "Why don't you tell us why you _really_ invited us here?"

Moran chuckled, the sound close to purring. "_Very good, Sherlock. I'm beginning to understand why Jim was so smitten with you. But, since you're so clever – since I have two actual geniuses before me… Why don't _you_ explain what's going on?_"

Spencer and Sherlock looked at each other, frowning, tense, wary. Then, much too slowly, the younger genius' eyes widened to a impossible extend while chilling realization dawned. All color drained from his face while his whole body filled with cold. "Oh my…!" Rising to his feet although it was highly likely that they'd only succeed in failing him he took a deep, shuddering breath, one unsteady hand reaching out towards his ear piece. Desperate to reach his family. Desperate to keep them from turning into victims of this sick game. "Get out of there, RIGHT NOW! GET OUT! It's a trap!"

"_They won't hear you. That'd be cheating. This round was to test them. You know your family, Spencer. Do you think that they'll figure it out?_"

Spencer's eyes blurred slightly while he listened to the absolute silence where his friends' voices should've been. He stood there, frozen to the bone. Hoping from the bottom of his heart and soul that they wouldn't be too late to understand.

"Reid." Elle's eyes were wild and frantic. Those of a already dead soul attempting to achieve salvation before it was too late. Was it possible that she appeared paler than before? "Listen to me, alright? That… That building isn't the only trap. The other bomb…"

Her words were cut so abruptly that everyone present shuddered. There was a sharp bang and for a moment they thought that it was the explosion. It wasn't. Instead Elle fell, blood pouring from the fresh wound that'd appeared to her head.

Spencer felt like he was inside some kind of a sick dream. He couldn't move. Couldn't make a sound. Everything was muffled and surreal.

_John_ wasn't frozen. Eyes changing somehow the doctor moved swiftly, reaching Elle's side in a matter of seconds and assessing the woman's condition. The man's expression was stone hard but not grim. Without pausing to think he ripped off one sleave of her shirt and pressed it against the gaping hole, desperate to staunch the crimson flow. For some reason Spencer's eyes locked on the all too familiar track marks on her arm. The sight made his heart impossibly heavy.

Fortunately John's voice pulled him out of dark thoughts. "I can't tell how extensive the damage is but she's still alive. We have to get her to a hospital – there's only so much I can do here." The man's eyes were sharp and commanding while finding Sherlock's. "Call an ambulance, now!"

Spencer's brain drowned out the rest. His thoughts were whirring, making his skull ache like it'd been torn apart. All thoughts blurred together.

Elle… She tried to warn them… Another trap… A bomb. Where? Was it the great final game? The bomb… Where was it? Where was his team, his family?

Elle was in safe hands, now. She'd just have to fight it. But the rest of his team… They weren't. Not yet. He couldn't just stand there when…

Spencer was running before he managed to even register it. Rushing towards the building that might explode at any given second. Deaf to the shouts ordering him to stop.

Then the sheer force of the explosion threw him violently to the ground and all became black.

* * *

(**_Inside the building, a few moments earlier._**)

Emily Prentiss' heart hammered close to her throat while she followed the rest of the team into the building. So according to Penelope's trace Moran's cell phone was located inside. It made sense – the man would've wanted to be close to see the game, to see the suffering.

The question was, would they find him before it was too late?

Following Aaron's soundless gestures JJ, Derek and David accompanied the man upstairs. Emily was just about to follow them when something caught her attention. A whimper.

Emily was a seasoned agent. Of course she knew that it was incredibly stupid to go anywhere alone when a dangerous killer was lurking around in the same building. But her instincts got the better of her. Swallowing thickly against the unpleasant taste that rose into her mouth she began to move towards the sound she just heard, her gun ready and all instincts running on overdrive.

Emily followed a long hallway all the way to its end, into a tiny, practically empty room. What she found was a black, heavily built closet. Up close the whimpers were even clearer than before, a touch more heartbreaking. She hesitated for a long moment before daring to open the door. Instantly a gasp slipped through her lips and her heart skipped a beat.

A clearly scared but at least physically unharmed little boy at the age of around two sat there, tears filling his horrified brown eyes and running down his cheeks. His brown hair had been ruffled, making him appear even younger than he probably was. It took a couple of seconds before Emily realized that he was screaming at her. In Spanish.

Blinking twice Emily crouched, trying to smile and failing miserably. "_It's… It's alright, okay? I won't hurt you. I'll get you out of this building, do you understand? It'll be okay._"

The little boy only cried harder, shaking his head. It was around then he seemed to remember what he'd been holding. His hand trembling he handed a cell phone towards her. Emily felt a shiver.

_Moran's_ cell phone, no doubt.

Cautious, half expecting the item to explode as soon as she touched it, Emily took a closer look. There was a single text message waiting for her. Moran's words made her whole world tilt for a few seconds.

'_Didn't I warn you, agent Prentiss? You killed my good men. I told you that if you're not careful I'd take away yours._'

And then the explosion shook the entire building.

* * *

In the aftermath of the explosion Sebastian Moran stood just close enough to see it all. His eyes full of ice cold fire behind his sunglasses. A barely noticeable smirk on his face.

The round was finished.

Around him people were screaming and gasping, bombarding 911 with their calls. Hysterical, speaking of terrorists. Ignoring them all Moran turned around and took his cell phone. He didn't call the emergency number. Instead he sent a text message. A picture. A clue.

"Oh, trust me", he murmured. "It's not over yet."

He disappeared like a ghost. And if one would've asked anyone of the people present none of them would've remembered seeing him. All they remembered was the explosion that lit up the sky.

* * *

An hour later a pair of solemn eyes watched as a young, sombre faced news-reporter called Louise Moodie gestured towards the badly damaged building behind her. There was a look of near terror in her green eyes while she ran a hand through her long, burgundy hair. "_…_ _warehouse behind me. The officials haven't released any details yet but it's highly likely that there was a group of FBI-agents inside at the time of the explosion. No information on possible casualties has been released…_"

Jason Gideon swallowed thickly, feeling sick to his stomach. With years of experience he knew to trust that feeling, knew although his heart would've much rather denied the knowledge. Something he'd imagined long ago buried brought moisture into his eyes.

He knew that it was his former team, the family he walked away from, out there.

Jason wasn't alerted by the sounds of approaching steps. He'd known to expect them. One hand switched off the TV while the other sneaked closer to his concealed weapon. "I'm surprised that it took you this long to find me."

From the black TV-screen he saw the reflection of Sebastian Moran. "I wasn't looking until now." That was, without a doubt, a gun pointed at him. "Now… Why don't we have a lovely little chat before I explain what, exactly, it is that I need you for?"

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Uh huh… That… was something. (shivers) Let's just hope that the whole gang makes it through this mess alive. What's the next round going to be alive? And where is the final bomb hiding? Tick tock…

PLEASE, do leave your thoughts and comments down below! It'd be so cool to hear how you're feeling after the whirlwind of this chapter. (gives puppy's eyes)

I REALLY hope that you'll join in then.

Until next time! Take care!


	6. Riddles in the Dark

A/N: Gosh! It was a close call BUT I did manage a Saturday update. (beams) Hooray?

First, though! THANK YOU, so very much, for your amazing reviews and support! You guys can't even imagine how precious you are to me. So thank you! (hugs)

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Riddles in the Dark

* * *

Since he was a child Spencer had been haunted by a recurring dream. A nightmare, really. He always woke up covered in cold sweat and panting like he'd finished a marathon.

In the dream he walked through a pitch black hallway, in the end finding stairs that led into a even darker space. He swallowed, then braced himself and walked down, like something had been calling out to him. Unable to do anything else although his heart and soul were screaming desperate protests.

What he found… stilled him, entirely.

Despite the almost absolute absence of light he was able to make out the dried blood that covered the walls and floors. In the middle of the floor lay a man's body, arms placed like the poor soul had been holding them up before his death. Blood caked the dead man's hair that'd probably been blond once upon a time. Spencer's wide eyes saw a gaping hole.

The corpse wasn't what truly terrified Spencer, though. What got under his skin, shook him, was the shadowy figure standing in the room's corner. Completely silent. Watching him. Spencer didn't have to see the unwanted person's face to be able to identify the threat.

Each and every single time Spencer woke up to his own scream.

Only this time made an exception.

Spencer's eyes flew open to meet a sight he was sadly familiar with. A hospital's ceiling. He frowned, attempting to bring some sense into what was going on. What… was he doing in a hospital this time? Why was his head hurting like someone had hit it with a sledgehammer? His ears were also ringing. So what…?

Moran. Yes, definitely. It was Moran's game.

Elle… She was also there. And so…

His eyes widened while a cold fist squeezed his heart so tightly that it was a miracle it managed to keep on beating.

An explosion. With his team, his family, still in the building. With all of them inside.

_No! No, no, no…!_

He needed to find out. He needed to know. Needed to see.

Sitting up as fast as his head allowed Spencer moved, unable to keep himself from wincing with discomfort even the slightest movements caused. Carefully making sure that all the doctors and nurses bustling past the room seemed to have more urgent matters at hand he pushed himself up, fighting back a groan at how much dust there was covering his clothes. Dust, but no blood. That had to be a good sign, right?

Spencer didn't believe in signs. He was a man of science, after all. He needed proof.

His movements far too slow and stiff to his liking Spencer made his way out of the room, his heart heavy with hope that his family was still intact.

* * *

For John the events after Elle got shot were nothing but a blur. All his soldier's instincts activated with the sound of a gunshot, with the sight of her blood. His body functioned while his head whirred at a impossible speed. His mouth shouting orders. His hands working furiously on her wound. Even the explosion only stopped him for those moments he was struck hard to the ground.

Until all of a sudden there were others helping her. For a few moments he watched with half glazed over, dazed eyes how the medics began to work on her. It wasn't until then his brain recalled the explosion.

His head full of haze John moved towards the partially collapsed, definitely unsafe building until a pair of arms wrapped around him. He fought back with a hazardous snarl of frustrated anger but the hold only became harder.

"John, don't be an idiot! Professionals are already on it." Sherlock's voice sounded distant although the man was right behind him. "You'd get yourself killed, alright? You're not going in there."

Sherlock kept talking but John couldn't hear. Past and present mixed together. The explosion… The devastation…

The war in Afganistan…

The war in London…

The lost lives…

While everything dimmed to a grey hue John saw a flash of blue.

* * *

/ _"Will you, Dr. John Hamish Watson, take this Mary Elizabeth Morstan…"_

_"Dr", John corrected instantly. With a wide grin on his face he met Mary's impossibly blue, smiling eyes. "_Dr._ Mary Elizabeth Morstan."_

_The priest smiled, seeming to understand the inside joke. "Well, then… Will you, Dr. John Hamish Watson, take this _Dr._ Mary Elizabeth Morstan, to be you lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold her for the rest of your lives, until death do you part?"_

_"Yes." There was no hesitation in John. For the first since he watched his world crash down from a hospital's rooftop he felt completely, utterly content. One of his hands slid to her very much pregnant stomach. "I do."_ /

* * *

And then all colors streamed back in with a firm, nearly steely hold grabbing his good shoulder. "John? John!" Sherlock's expression remained unchanged, albeit tight, but worry could be read from those eyes. "You just nearly collapsed. Was there something in the pill, after all? Do you need a hospital?"

John swallowed and shook his head sternly, feeling sick to his stomach as memories spun in a hurricane. His knees felt so weak that it was a miracle he was still something. And his hands… They were covered in Elle's blood. He had to… Needed to…

Gulping again John glanced towards the sounds coming from the ruins. The rescue crew was shouting and there was a incredible amount of activity. His heart skipped a beat and his eyes widened a fraction.

Someone had been discovered alive.

Sherlock's voice pulled him out of whatever track of thought he'd gotten lost on. "You're bleeding, John." At his look of confusion the detective pointed towards the back of his head, to the hairline.

Startled John brushed the pointed spot and gave his fingers a look. Sure enough there was blood. No wonder his head felt like it'd been smashed to pieces. But where…?

Before he could move a muscle, before he even realized properly what was happening, Sherlock was examining his injury. "There's a wound, too. It looks like the stitches have been pulled. Must've been the explosion. It did knock us both to the ground."

John frowned, feeling a shiver. "I… can't remember ever hurting my head."

A wave of alarm radiated from Sherlock but the look on the man's face barely wavered. "You were Moran's captive for almost a day, correct? And unconscious for most of it. Yet you haven't sought out medical assistance. Your lack of rational thinking is appalling." Without anything further the man was already pulling him along towards the medics standing by, waiting for someone to tend to.

John protested but his attempts were feeble with adrenaline fading fast. "What are you doing?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth. " Isn't it rather obvious? You're going to have that wound looked at. For a doctor you do a rather poor job at looking after yourself."

That voice… Colored with sheer, genuine concern… Although John was nowhere close to forgiving and he'd _never_ forget that tone brought a tiny smile to his face. If there was one thing he never once doubted over the past three years of hell, it was whether Sherlock Holmes had a heart.

* * *

Spencer honestly didn't know how long he'd been wandering around until he finally saw a familiar face. Relief made him lose his breath for a unhealthily long moment and he swayed, almost falling to the floor. Relief, confusion and a concussion made his aching head spin.

Emily was right there, before his very eyes, looking like she'd gone to hell and crawled back moments earlier. But she was alive and not alone. In her arms slept a very small boy, covered in dust and tiny cuts. Lines left by tears could be seen on the child's cheeks.

Spencer blinked rapidly, approaching although his feet felt unsteady. "Hey", he greeted, hating how croaky his voice sounded. "Are you alright?"

Emily startled at first, her hold on the little boy tightening instinctively. A sharp breath of relief slipped through her lips when she really recognized him. "Yeah. We're both okay." She nodded once, as though trying to come out of a haze. He wondered if her ears were ringing as badly as his. It would explain how she hadn't heard him coming closer. "Are you? I tried to come and see you but they wouldn't let me…"

Spencer interrupted her with a very impatient nod his head didn't feel ready for. "I'm fine." He just hoped that the staff wouldn't catch up with him because they might not agree. Dread formed a tight knot in his stomach. "Where are the others? Are they…?" He couldn't bring himself to voice it. Didn't want to know…

Emily looked away and swallowed hard. Shadows danced on her bruised face. "They were running away when the bomb went off. They figured out that it was a trap. Morgan's… fine, mostly. He's got a lot of bruises and he managed to hit his head. He was unconscious but I've heard him all the way here a couple of times so he's about to get himself kicked out pretty soon." She paused to make sure that the little boy was asleep, or perhaps to compose herself. "Rossi was conscious the whole way here. He had some minor burns and a couple of broken bones, and his arm… didn't look good. He's in surgery right now. They'll operate on JJ, too, as soon as she's stable enough. I've already called Will." The next pause was longer than the last. It even looked like her eyes watered slightly. She looked at him although it seemed to require all her willpower. "They… They haven't found Hotch yet. He's still in there."

Spencer's legs, weak from the start, gave out completely right there. He slumped heavily to the seat beside hers, burying his face into his hands. His fierce, rubbing motions didn't change anything. Didn't wake him from this nightmare. Guilt landed on him, so heavy that he truly feared it might crush his chest.

He brought this threat on his family and now…

It seemed to take forever before he managed to squeeze out a breath. His chest was burning and his eyes stung hellishly. "What about Sherlock and John?"

"The last time I saw them they seemed fine." Emily's voice was a lot more quiet than usual. Sounded wrong. Wrong, all of this. "The explosion's blast knocked them to the ground, that's all."

Spencer tried to nod but wasn't sure if he succeeded. Well, at least they were safe. It wasn't until then a flash of a long lost friend came to his head. His mouth went so dry that it hurt to talk. "And Elle?"

Emily was quiet for a really long time. _Too_ long. "I… I'm so sorry, Reid. But… They lost her on the table."

Spencer couldn't say anything to that. All he felt by then was numb, inside and out. All thoughts disappeared from his head, apart from one.

_I'm so sorry._

They sat there in absolute silence, both lost into their thoughts, neither knowing what it was they were waiting for.

* * *

It was all a bit fuzzy. Someone poking on John's injury, muttering something about how deep it was in a shocked voice. A police car taking him and Sherlock to the station, as it seemed that they still didn't quite trust the two Brits enough to leave them alone. His head was hurting and all he wanted was to sleep it off. No such luck.

Sherlock didn't speak a word until they were alone in a break room. "I've taken you to countless of crime scenes. You've been to a war. I've never seen you go into a shock over the sight of blood before."

"It's been three years, Sherlock." There was no acid in John's voice. Just immense fatigue. "I've changed." _Maybe I can't be the person you're expecting me to be anymore._

Sherlock was quiet for a while, staring at him in a way that made him shift slightly with discomfort. Then spoke once more. "Did you honestly think that I wouldn't notice the ring line on your finger? Or that I don't know about the picture in your pocket?" There was something close to confusion on the man's face, in those gleaming eyes. "You're a married man. A father. But all of a sudden you went after Moran, leaving everything behind. Why?"

John looked away. The pain in his chest made him feel like a knife, or perhaps another bullet, had been slammed right in. His eyes welled up in a response to the agony. "Sherlock, please don't…"

"Where's your family, John?" Of course Sherlock wouldn't give up. "What happened to them?"

Was that a tear he felt? He was shaking so badly that it was a miracle he didn't fall from the chair. "Sherlock, please…!"

Sherlock's eyes were even sharper than before when they locked with his, searching. "What… happened?"

John gasped, feeling like he'd been burned up alive and drowning at the same time. This time there was definitely a tear. Everything hurt, right down to the tips of his toes. "Haven't you deduced that already?"

* * *

/ _For John it was supposed to be one of those horrific weekends spent with in-laws. Although he didn't dislike Mary's parents, not really. They were kind people who'd been startlingly open hearted to accept a traumatized war-veteran of two wars as their daughter's husband. For Mary's sake John was willing to spend time in that small countryside house because he could tell how much she loved it there. Their daughter loved it there, too._

_With a soft smile on his face John fastened his precious ten-month-old safely. He pressed a tender kiss to his daughter's forehead when the child giggled at him. "Alright, then." He straightened his form and stretched, preparing himself for a long ride. "Hannah is good to go."_

_Mary smiled as well, watching the two of them from the front seat. "So it would seem. You're going to spoil her rotten, you know?"_

_He shrugged, trying to appear as innocent as possible. "It's all your fault, really. She's got your eyes. How am I ever supposed to say 'no' to them?"_

_Mary was about to respond until she seemed to remember something and swore under her breath, careful not to let Hannah hear. "I forgot my camera."  
John immediately gestured her to hold still. "I'll go and get it." He gave her a smirk. "Just so you know, we're going to get your memory tested when we come back."_

_"Ha ha." Mary did, however, blow him a kiss. "I love you, you jerk."_

_John never got the chance to say it back because just then his cell phone began to ring. He picked up while marching towards their flat, determined to get going as fast as possible. The caller turned out to be some poor sod trying to sell a magazine. He hung up in five seconds after declining politely._

_Just as he stepped back to the street, waving the camera at Mary who rolled her eyes at him through the car's window, the explosion rattled all the windows nearby, striking him to the ground with his ears ringing._

_When he finally managed to look up again his family had disappeared to a fire red inferno that used to be their car._ /

* * *

"I was supposed to die there, Sherlock. I… I'm supposed to be dead, with my family." John wiped his eyes although it was pointless with how the moisture kept forming persistently. "They… They must've found out that you were alive. Moran isn't stupid. I guess he put two and two together when bodies began to pile up." He squeezed his eyes tightly shut but it didn't seal him from the pain. "It… It all makes sense, now. The people keeping an eye on us three. I thought that they were Mycroft's men, back then. The explosion. The text I received afterwards."

Sherlock had been eerily quiet until then. "What text?"

John's jaw tightened. This would hurt. "'_He should've kept his part of the deal._'"

They stared at each other. And from that moment it became clear just why things would never go back to what they once were. Why the wounds were so bitter, so raw.

Sherlock shivered like someone who'd just been shot. For a moment there was something terrifyingly intense in the detective's eyes until steel took over. All of a sudden it felt like a canyon opened up between them.

John emitted a shuddering sigh. "Sherlock…" But what use were words, really? What good would any of them do?

Sherlock took two steps backwards, closing his eyes. "I'm going to my Mind Palace, now. Do shut up."

John stared at his friend in a mixture of helplessness, anger, frustration and tremendous sadness. Stared, against all odds waiting. Eventually his shoulders slumped under the weight of lost hope.

* * *

Since they had no power of attorney position Spencer and Emily were able to receive next to no information on their friends. Derek would, apparently, need someone to pick him up the following day. David was out of the surgery and on his way to recovery. JJ was taken into surgery moments before they left, mere seconds after hysterical Will's arrival. They still didn't have a clue about how she was doing.

And Aaron… The rescue workers found Aaron at last. The man had been rushed into OR instantly, that was all they managed to dig out. The unit chief wasn't expected to come out of the theater for several hours.

All Spencer and Emily wanted to do was to sit right there waiting, to make sure that everyone was going to be alright. But Moran was still on the loose and now they had a terrified child in their hands who'd been so traumatized that he'd been given a light dosage of sedatives to put him to sleep. They had work to do. Knowing perfectly well that doing so was most likely idiotic Spencer had himself discharged. There was no way he'd stay in the hospital until this nightmare was over and dealt with.

The police station was in a state of chaos when they entered. Which was only understandable, considering that a group of FBI-agents had just been almost blown up and a woman had been killed. From a considerably calmer break room they found John from a visibly uncomfortable chair and Sherlock standing there, eyes glazed over with a far away look in them and muttering something incoherent to himself.

"He's been like that for the past hour", John informed them. The man had a small, slightly apologetic smile on his face but his eyes were red and puffy. "Apparently he needed to visit his Mind Palace."

Spencer blinked, Emily groaned. "I probably don't even want to know", she announced.

John emitted a brief chuckle, then grew far more serious. "I'm… sorry, about your team. And especially Elle."

Spencer nodded stiffly, struggling to keep his breathing even. The time of grieving and tears would come, but later. Instead he focused on the all too familiar cell phone on the room's table. Time was ticking away. "We need to find Moran before he launches another round. And we have to find out where the bomb is. Even more people will die if we don't."

John sighed and nodded, suddenly appearing years older than before. "Well, let's get to work, then." The man pointed towards the files and papers piled up on the chair to his right. "Pretty much all possible information on Moran, courtesy to Mycroft Holmes. I really hope that you're fast readers."

They were just about to get to work when Spencer's cell phone bleeped. He didn't have to take a look to know who it was. He took a breath. "I'm… going to take this. It may be Will."

Any other day the two would've noticed that something was baddly off when he left the room. In a sick, twisted way Spencer was glad that today wasn't like any other. Gritting his teeth he steeled himself for a few seconds before opening the text message. Another piece of the puzzle, just as Moran promised. The second piece of the picture. Revealing more of the same park's bench, people passing by, flowers.

He'd had barely any time to process until the phone began to ring. "Yes?" His voice was full of ice and venom. How else was he supposed to feel after this man put almost his whole team into a hospital and ended up killing two of his friends?

"_Are your ears still ringing, Spencer?_" Sebastian sounded far too pleased with himself, entirely too confident. Like a cobra preparing for an attack. "_I did my best to deliver an impressive blow. Just to show you what I'm capable of. Keep in mind, though, that Elle was her very own victim. She just couldn't keep her mouth shut and that was all I told her to do._"

Spencer's eyes narrowed. His heart hammered so fast that he truly feared he'd suffocate. "What do you want from me?" he snarled in a unfamiliar voice.

"_I want you to find me. This last round before the big game… It'll be just between the two of us, Spencey. And if you fail to come alone… Well, I know the hospital room of each and every single member of your pathetic, so called family. And when I'm through with them I'll move on to their families. Starting with that adorable godson of yours. Henry, wasn't he?_"

Such cold he'd never felt before filled Spencer's whole body. So intense that it made all breath catch into his throat. He cleared his throat before daring to even attempt speaking. "How am I supposed to find you?"

"_Of course you'll find me._" This time Sebastian's voice carried a vicious edge. A clear touch of threat and wrath. "_You managed to do so when you were only four-years-old, after all. So come. Tick, tock. Someone's time is running out._" The phone call was over before he could even breathe out.

Spencer stared at the cell phone, hopeless rage bubbling everywhere underneath his skin. He'd already lost two friends. Now almost all of his still remaining world was threatened. He needed to do something, _anything_.

In that moment of despair his brain worked on overdrive. And at a time when all hope was lost he was granted a beacon of clarity. A clip he'd somehow managed to delete, like so many other events from his childhood.

* * *

/ _The blade was long and even, stained with dried blood. Even though he was only four Spencer knew that it was dangerous. Moran's icy smirk was even more threatening. Yet he couldn't move a muscle. Couldn't even utter a sound. "Oh, Spencey… You're going to wish that you never found me."_ /

* * *

And Spencer knew exactly where to go. What to do. For the sake of his family.

Knowing that he couldn't waste a second Spencer took a pen and a piece of paper, then scribbled down a hasty message and left it behind along with his cell phone. Before leaving he took a one more glance towards where Emily was talking to John. Imprinted the woman's face, every little detail. Then, although it was the last thing he wanted to do, he turned and began to walk away, his feet heavy with regret.

Upon leaving he didn't wish that they'd understand. They never would. He just hoped that they'd be able to forgive him one day.

By the time Sherlock turned towards the spot he just occupied he was long gone.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Aaaaaand the mess just got thicker. (groans) How in the world is this going to end? Where the crap is the bomb? Is everyone going to come out of this alive?

THIS FIC SEEMS TO WANT TO BE ELEVEN CHAPTERS LONG, SO WE'RE WELL PAST THE HALFWAY MARK. Would you like to see it through to the possibly bitter end? PLEASE, leave a review and let me know! Awww, c'mon, it's summertime. Give me some extra sunshine. Or just speak out your minds on all these cliffies…

Until next time! I really hope that I'll see ya all there.

Take care!


	7. Head Games

A/N: Yup, I'm baaaaack, a day early! (grins) I wouldn't have been able to update tomorrow so I decided that perhaps you wouldn't be too upset over a early post. (winks)

THANK YOU, so very much, for all your reviews and support! (BEAMS, and hugs) As I've mentioned before this is my first adventure in the land of crossovers. It makes me incredibly happy that you've decided to stick around. So thank you!

Awkay. Because stalling isn't going to make posting this any less terrifying… Let's go!

My last words? Please don't hate me. Much. (Yeeeeeeeeah, very reassuring…)

* * *

Head Games

* * *

If there was one thing Sherlock had never been accused of it was being stupid. So when he discovered that Spencer had disappeared his mind clicked quickly. Eyebrows furrowed he took his cell phone, following some inner command. Sure enough, there was a text message from Spencer waiting for him.

'_I'm sorry but I have to face this round alone. Don't follow me. The team is going to need your help. Look after them for me, please._'

Sherlock certainly wasn't overly skilled when it came to understanding human emotions. But he did sense the acute despair in those words. _… please … _Hard as he tried to deny it the Brit's stomach knotted uncomfortably with what a small, distant part of his head identified as… worry, perhaps?

What in the world was Spencer doing? Sherlock's eyes swept towards the other cell phone in the room, locking on the numbers counting down. Well, whatever was going on, there was no time to waste.

John and Emily followed the detective with some confusion when the man left the room, looking for what he didn't quite know. All three of them froze when they noticed the items Spencer had left behind. A small note – another apology – and his cell phone. Sherlock groaned inwardly. Sometimes he wasn't pleased to be right.

"Shit…!" Emily hissed. Her eyes didn't seem entirely dry.

Doing his best to ignore the weight sitting on his chest Sherlock took Spencer's cell phone, beginning to inspect it. Now wasn'the time for emotions. If they wanted to bring an end to this, if they wanted to find Spencer alive, they needed to function. At times like this human emotions were nothing but a nuisance.

John moved to his side while he began to go through the younger genius' text messages. The doctor was tense, remained a single step further than would've been necessary. "What are you looking for?"

Sherlock opened the newest message. A picture. Another clue. "This."

Sherlock's brain whirred a million miles per hour while he stared at the piece of a picture, his brain immediately connecting it to memories. That park… It seemed very familiar. Yes! He knew it now. It was right there, in London.

Hold on second. In _London_? Surely the bomb couldn't possibly be in London. So what… in the world was going on? What _the hell_ was he missing?

John was frowning as well while staring at the picture. There was a confused, almost troubled look in the doctor's eyes. "… familiar…"

Sherlock frowned. But before he could inquire anything further a voice interrupted him. "Please, tell me that you've found something that'll help us catch that son of a bitch."

Sherlock peered over his shoulder to find Derek Morgan standing a few steps away. Visibly still in some pain and not quite well, but stubbornly on his own two feet. Obviously the man shouldn't have been out of the hospital. _Sentiment._

Emily was by her teammmate's side in an instant, her eyes full of worry and relief. "Hey. Are you okay? What are you doing here? You should…"

Derek's eyes blazed. "Are you seriously expecting me to stay in the hospital waiting after everything Moran's done? While he's still out there?" the man nearly spat out. "I'm _not_ letting him get away with this!"

Emily snorted, folding her arms. "Morgan, you're not in the condition to be running after a dangerous criminal!"

"Enough!" To all their surprise the barked order came from John. Captain Watson's eyes were stone hard when sweeping through them all. "Your team's been through a lot and for that I am sorry. Moran's tormented us all. People… People have died. Several are in a hospital. Apparently one is missing. We're the last ones left and we have a timeline. So let's try to work together, alright?"

For a few moments they all stared at the man like they were just seeing him for the very first time. Every single one of them, even Sherlock, stunned into silence. And then, indeed, they got to work.

* * *

Spencer didn't like to admit it but his legs were shaking a little bit when he stood behind the door of a small, abandoned looking cabin in the middle of a forest. He wasn't sure if the sound echoing in his ears came from the violently running river below a nearby cliff or if it was his bloodstream. Memories that'd just been unleashed flooded, pulsating through with such force that it was giving him a headache.

Then he pushed the door open and walked right in, his gun held up firmly.

The cabin was almost completely dark, just like the previous time he found it. Dust circled heavily everywhere around him, like a grey cloud, and the foul smell that'd found its way everywhere was so thick that he wanted to hold his breath. From what sounded like a great distance a small, beeping sound found its way to his ears. Calling out to him. Taunting him. He followed after only a second of hesitation.

The stairs screeched, just like they did the previous time he took them. One. Two. Three. Four. Each step took him further and further into the sea of darkness, into shadows that seemed to be full of ghosts and monsters.

Finally his feet found a floor to stand on. The wood felt suspiciously soft, ready to give in at any moment. Spencer stood absolutely still for a few moments, trying to will his eyes into getting used to the lack of light since a flashlight would've only aroused attention. Sure enough, he began to see shapes.

His relief was short lived, though. Because just then he heard a much too familiar voice. "This is a _turn up_, isn't it, Spencer?"

Spencer's heart most definitely stopped completely for a moment or two. Slowly, slowly – not really wanting to see – he turned around to face his companion. The world began to sway before his very eyes. "Gideon…?"

* * *

Meanwhile the team of four fought their hardest to bring any sense at all to the information they'd managed to gather so far.

Derek's head was pounding from too much adrenaline, concussion and worry. He tried to soothe it with rubbing the bridge of his nose while calling Penelope. "Hey, baby girl." He hated how tired and uneven his voice sounded.

"_Hey._" Penelope sounded like she'd just been crying. She cleared her throat before even attempting to speak further. "_Anything new?_"

Derek gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt. "You could say that", he bit out. "Spencer's missing. He went after Moran alone."

"_WHAT?_" Sheer terror and rage fought over control in her voice. Derek certainly didn't envy Spencer when the genius would face his miracle girl. "_The next time I see him, I swear…!_"

"I know, I know. I may beat you to it." Derek figured that he'd have to apologize for his harsh tone when things were a little less… hectic. He took a deep breath. "Listen, could you do a full background check on Daniel Reid for me?"

Penelope scoffed. "_I'm insulted and disappointed if you really think that I haven't done such by now._"

"I know you have." Derek did his best to keep his tone in check but had a feeling that he failed miserably. "But could you do another one? For me? And be even more throughout than your usual amazing self."

"_You know that I'd do anything for you, sweet cheeks._" There was a moment's pause. "_While I'm digging… Would you like me to check how the others are doing at the hospital?_"

That actually coaxed a smile from Derek. Just a tiny one but still. "I knew that I'd be able to count on you."

"_Always._" She sounded close to tears. He could only imagine how helpless and frustrated she must've been feeling. "_Just… Just catch that monster and bring our baby genius home, alright? So that I can smack him for worrying us like this._"

Derek swallowed thickly. "I will." Oh, how he wished that he would've been able to believe in his own words. He took a breath. "I'll call you later." No tender words, no jokes. This all made him feel incredibly cold inside.

Emily gave him a look as he hung up. "Did you call Garcia?"

Derek nodded. Dread swirled inside him, making him feel so uneasy that he wanted to squirm. "She's doing a new, even more throughout background check. Maybe she'll find something we've missed so far."

Sherlock's eyebrow bounced up. The detective glanced away from the mess of notes the man was making for only a second. "Is she any good?"

Derek wasn't sure if he wanted to grin or glare. He did neither. "The best there is."

"Excuse me?" There was a timid, almost apologetic look on the face of the young officer who stood by the room's doorway. Those wide, innocent blue eyes couldn't belong to anyone older than twenty. "I was, uh… asked to bring this to you. Don't worry, it's been scanned. There's nothing dangerous."

They all stared at the box in the young man's unsteady hands suspiciously. It didn't require a high IQ to realize that it was from Sebastian Moran. But would opening it be a mistake?

In the end Emily stepped forth. "Thank you." Her voice was tighter than usual which, considering the circumtances, was only understandable. "We'll take it from here."

Taking the hint the officer left. In seconds the four of them gathered around the box while Emily removed the lid carefully, clearly fully expecting something to jump on them. Nothing did. Instead they found a tape recorder and CT-scans. A note had been attached to the recorder.

'_Don't play me until the time is right. Don't worry. You'll know when the time comes. And no foul play – you know the consequences of breaking the rules._'

Derek frowned. "What the…?" He was already reaching out for the recorder when Sherlock stopped him with a irony hand.

"Are you an idiot?" the Brit snarled, eyes carrying something almost dangerous. "He made the rules perfectly clear. And he obviously has this place under observation. Do you really want to take the risk of breaking his rules?"

Derek growled while his eyes narrowed but said nothing. Fine. He'd admit defeat, just this once. He certainly didn't trust Sherlock but the detective's reasoning was infuriatingly solid.

John took the scans, glancing at them with a frown. The pictures were those of a human head. The doctor stared for a moment before pointing at something. "There. Do you see that, the dark area? It doesn't belong there."

They all saw it. Emily leaned closer, appearing confused. "What is it? A tumor?"

John shook his head. "It doesn't look right. It's… a foreign object of some sort. But… What is it? And how did it get in there?"

No answer was voiced. In the end Emily rubbed her face harshly with one hand. "Great. This got even weirder. Just what we needed."

* * *

For several seconds Spencer simply stared. Desperately trying to take in just what he was seeing. Trying to tell himself that it couldn't possibly be real.

Jason Gideon stood right there before him. A stone hard expression on his pale, tense face and a distraught look in his eyes. Pointing a gun at him.

"Gideon?" Spencer tried again. His heartrate sped up with each passing second. "What… What is this?"

Jason swallowed hard, without a doubt to hold back vomit. The hand holding the gun wasn't quite steady. "He… He has a gun on my son and grandchildren, Spencer. Lynn… She's only four. She's just a little girl and I can't let him…" Tears welled into the older man's eyes but didn't fall. "If… If I don't… Then he'll kill them." The voice was quiet but somehow sounded loud and clear in the middle of all the adrenaline. "I… I'm sorry, Spencer. I'm so sorry!"

Spencer swallowed thickly, his heart thundering in his chest and cold sweat gathering to his skin. Suddenly it was all clear. Far too much so.

His gun… He still had it. If he so wished he'd be able to shoot Jason, right there and then. Kill or be killed. That was what this round was all about.

He'd known to expect as much.

Spencer licked his lips, unable to stop himself from trembling. "I've… been wondering where you went, after…" He tried to smile but it probably came out all wrong. Well, a gun pointed at him was bound to have an affect. "I… I'm glad that you found your son. And his family. That… That you found peace."

This time on tear did meander down Jason's pale cheek. "I'm sorry, for leaving you back then. You would've needed me…"

Spencer shook his head. The time of apologies… The time of making amends… This wasn't it. "I forgave you a long time ago."

Jason nodded somewhat shakily, visibly fighting with himself not to lower the gun. Something heavy lingered in the air between them. No surprise there. Considering the circumstances in which they last met and now this…

All of a sudden a beeping sound could be heard echoing in the room. Taunting them. Chilling Spencer to the bone. A countdown. Apparently Moran thought that they were taking too long.

For a fleeting second Jason's hand brushed the man's ear, allowing Spencer to notice an earpiece. Figures. To Moran it must've been the next best thing to actually pulling the trigger himself. "Spencey…" So these words weren't coming from Jason although the older man's lips formed them. If the doctor really focused he could almost see Moran right there before his eyes, the way he remembered the man. "Do you understand why I chose to end it here?"

Spencer nodded stiffly, fighting the urge to look around. His ears only caught the sounds of his own heart racing and his blood rushing. "The last time I came here… I saw you, with that body."

Jason nodded. The man's eyes were full of something unreadable before more words fed by a madman came. "That man was Isaac Moriarty. He tried to protect his little brother but he became… greedy. He became a hindrance."

Spencer swallowed thickly. The memories of all the blood in the dark, of the smell, of the corpse that'd been slaughtered in a brutal manner, were making him feel sick to his stomach. "I told my mom. No one believed her. No one else believed me." The words tasted even more bitter than the memories. His fists balled. "She spent months in a hospital. They didn't discharge her until two weeks after the… explosion."

"That's right." Jason and Moran's voices mixed together in Spencer's head. "You chased me to exile, Spencey. Forced to leave the country. Killed me. At the age of four." There was a pause during which the gun was leveled even more firmly on him. "All this time, all these years… I've been waiting for a chance to pay back. I started with a strike to your heart. And now… Now I'm going to make your heart stop."

Spencer met Jason's eyes. Firmly, feeling so calm that under any other circumstances it would've terrified him. And nodded. "Do it, then", he urged in a voice he couldn't recognize. _Trust me. _Slowly, slowly he lowered his own gun. "Put a bullet through my heart and stop it."_ It'll be okay._

Jason's eyes were wide, wild and moist. There was a sharp breath. "Goodnight, Spencey."

There was a sharp, deafening bang before the bullet slammed right at Spencer's chest, sending him down in an instant.

* * *

The still remaining extended team worked their hardest to gather whatever they could from the crumbs they'd received. It was a puzzle with several pieces missing and without any sort of a frame to help put it together. The emotional overload everywhere around him was giving Sherlock a intense headache.

In the end the detective decided that enough was enough. He gritted his teeth so hard that it actually hurt before growling out. "Shut up, all of you!" His eyes darted through the group that'd diminished tragically. "How is anyone supposed to focus on anything when you're thinking so loudly?"

Derek's eyes flashed dangerously. To anyone else but the detective that would've been the first warning sign. "Well, sorry if I'm a little worked up when almost all of my team is in a hospital and one member is missing!"

Sherlock scoffed, recofusing on the wild map of clues and theories they'd somehow managed to put together. And these people were supposed to be some sort of profilers…! "Caring isn't an advantage, Morgan."

John cast a warning look towards him. "Sherlock, _don't_."

Derek glared at him in a way that would've made most seek for cover. The man's eyes were pure lava. "Are you serious?"

Sherlock was frustrated. With this case, with his own inner turmoil after learning what John had been through, with Spencer not trusting him enough and taking off alone. "Did any amount of caring help you protect your team when that bomb went off?"

"Sherlock…!"

"Morgan, don't…!"

Both warnings came hopelessly too late. Derek's fist moved before anyone, including Sherlock, saw it coming. It hit the detective's cheek hard and swiftly, making stars dance in the tall man's eyes for a while. His eyes flaming and his blood fuming Sherlock made his move to counter until Emily appeared to stand between them.

"Enough!" she snarled, casting furious looks at them. "Both of you! What the hell do you think you'd accomplish with this childishness?"

There was no telling what might've happened if a cell phone hadn't bleeped just then, announcing that there was a new text message. Spencer's phone, the one that still lay right there before their very eyes. Without waiting for anyone else's reaction Sherlock took the item and clicked the message, a picture, open. In a few moments, once his brain truly registered what he was seeing, he wished dearly that he'd never taken a look.

It was the final piece of the clue picture. Telling the exact place of the bomb. And right there, in the picture, John sat on the park's bench.

All of a sudden everything collided violently in Sherlock busy, fuming head. Everything slid together. The puzzle was finally complete.

/ _All of John's headaches._ /

/ '_Welcome to the game, Sherlock. Now tick tock. John is waiting._' /

/ '_And do try to find the bomb in time. Seconds are ticking away, you see._' /

/ _"He had me, Sherlock. And he let me go. For some reason he chose to let me live although according to all sense he should've just killed me."_ /

/ _"Listen to me, alright? That… That building isn't the only trap. The other bomb…"_ /

/ _"John! You just nearly collapsed. Was there something in the pill, after all? Do you need a hospital?"_ /

/ _"You're bleeding, John."_ /

/ _The deep wound in the back of John's neck, right by the hairline._ /

/ _"I… can't remember ever hurting my head."_ /

/ _The CT-scan._ /

/ _"What is it? A tumor?" "It doesn't look right. It's… a foreign object of some sort."_ /

/ '_You'll know when the time comes._' /

Had the circumstances been different Sherlock would've called Moran's plan brilliant. The bomb had been right there with them all this time. It was still under their bloody noses in the middle of a police station! The criminal genius had released the bomb right into their hands, activated and ticking inevitably.

_John_ was the bomb.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Well. Crap. (winces) From bad to worse, huh? So the bomb is actually IN John. And since Moran allowed them to figure it out there can't be a lot of time left. And did Reid really just let Gideon shoot him? No fight, no resistance? Double crap. (winces again)

Because I truly fear that I'll be hunted down for this one, let me assure you that I'll be working on the next chapter as soon as I've got this one posted.

That so wasn't much of consolation, huh?

PLEASE, do leave a note before you go! C'mon, as it is that's your only way to unleash your frustration. (winks)

Until next time, ya all! I really hope that I'll see each and every single one of you there.

Take care!


	8. Burning the Heart Out of You

A/N: Weeeeell, since I updated on Friday last week and didn't have the heart to make you wait for another day… Ta-da! (smirks)

Thank you, LOTS, for you amazing reviews, listings and support! It really means a lot that you're hanging in there, ya know? (BEAMS) So thank you!

Awkay… (gulps) I suppose that there's no way around it anymore, so… Let's go!

PLEASE, don't murder me…? (hides)

* * *

Burning the Heart Out of You

* * *

At the police station the newfound information seeped through the small group like acid. For several moments they all simply stood there, completely frozen and eyes wide. One could practically hear their thundering hearts.

Surprisingly it was John who broke the silence. The man's hands were eerily steady, eyes wild with adrenaline high. "I… I think that now would be a good time to listen through Moran's recording."

Sherlock took the recorder like it burned, using all his willpower to hold on to whatever little there was left of his stony façade. He wished that his finger had been a little less wobbly than it was when he pressed 'play'. Moran's voice intensified the sick feeling that'd been sitting in the pit of his stomach since the infamous fall.

"_Since you're listening to this I'm under the impression that you finally know where the bomb is. It took far longer than I expected. Have you grown rusty during your game of cat and mouse, Sherlock?_"

Sherlock's eyes blazed while bloodlust took over. If he'd gotten his hands on Moran right there and then… Even for just a few moments…

"_Now, if you're not too busy trying to come up with ways to end my life… You must want to know how to stop the bomb, no? Before it makes a ugly mess of the good doctor's head – and quite a bit of whatever happens to be surrounding it._"

They all tensed up. The hope that sparked was dangerous, foolish. A rope of thorns thrown for a drowning man.

"_It's brand new technology. Jim always hired only the very best scientist, as you can imagine. It took years of development to make it perfect. Small. Subtle. Almost invisible until the inevitable. Despite its size it has a rather impressive range. I'd advice you to evacuate the building if you haven't done so by now._"

Sherlock barely noticed how Emily sprinted out of the room. He tried to meet John's eyes but the former soldier seemed to be trapped into a world of his own. For once he didn't have a clue of what John was thinking and feeling. It was infuriating.

"_Now, the best part of all… A way to stop the bomb? There's only one. No passwords and most certainly no magic codes. Now, open the top drawer of the desk nearest to you._"

Sherlock _didn't_ want to know. But what other choice did he have? His moves uncharacteristically slow and subtle he slid the drawer open. A bitter taste rose into his mouth.

A taser, and definitely not the original kind.

"_The bomb has only one weakness. It's unable to withstand electricity. A current like the one that device is able to produce will fry and shut down the mechanism. Stop the timer. There's just one, tiny problem. The bomb happens to inside of someone. And a human body doesn't appreciate electricity, either._" Moran held a small pause, taunting him. "_Do you remember what Jim told you, when you first met? I'm about to make his words come to life._"

Sherlock's eyes blurred. He felt dizzy, sick. Helpless rage made his blood boil.

"_To stop the bomb… you must let John's heart stop as well._"

* * *

Through a security camera's footage Sebastian Moran watched how Spencer went down. How Jason stared at the younger man with wide, tear filled eyes that held sheer terror. A grin took over his face.

That sight was very rewarding indeed. Just the way he'd dreamt. Too bad that he couldn't quite trust it.

His posture a picture of calmness and authority, his back held straight, Sebastian left the tiny room and made his way to the space where the pawns of his game were waiting for him.

Jason's eyes were full of unshed tears and wrath as they glared at him. "I did it. I shot him. What the hell do you want next?"

Sebastian smiled in a nearly pleasant way. "What I want, Jason… is that you drop the gun. I'm not sure that it's a good idea to let you hold it right now."

Oh, he could tell just how badly the man would've wanted to put a bullet into him. But there was too much at stake. And so the piece of metal fell loudly, the sheer rage in those eyes only intensifying.

Deciding to disregard the man for something far more interesting Sebastian approached, looked at Spencer's unmoving body that lay right before him. On his stomach, eyes closed, completely still. Seemingly lifeless.

Sebastian's eyebrow arched. "I must say… I never thought that you'd have it in you", he admitted. He cast a brief look towards Jason before refocusing on his nephew. "But you do realize that I'll have to give it a test, don't you?"

Not waiting for either of the men to make a move against him Sebastian kicked, as hard as he possibly could. The impact that hit Spencer's side was brutal and the men could've sworn that they heard a cracking sound. To the agent's credit the younger man remained almost completely still. _Almost_. Most eyes wouldn't have detected the slightest shiver. Sebastian's did.

He smirked, poisonous satisfaction flowing through his veins. So it wasn't quite over yet. Good, good. "You see, Jason…", Sebastian stated conversationally while pulling out his own gun. "There's a reason why I only trust in headshots."

Sebastian was getting ready to aim, his eyes never once straying from Spencer's prone form. Until he changed his mind. A small, wicked grin on his face he put away his own weapon, instead reached out towards the one in Spencer's unmoving fingers. The hand felt a bit cooler than he'd expected while he took the gun and pointed it at Jason.

"You've been most helpful", he complimented the former agent, his eyes locked firmly on those that betrayed only a hint of emotion. "So I'll make this quick. Don't worry about your son and his family, Jason. They'll be safe. I promise."

Jason's eyes only widened a fraction. There was a hasty, slightly choked breath, words that'd never be voiced. No pleas. Good. They would've been a waste of time.

Sebastian's hold on Spencer's gun tightened exactly a second before he pulled the trigger. Only to cause a sound but no damage. (_Blanks…!_) Only to discover that at some point the gun Jason dropped to the floor had disappeared.

* * *

The recording ended to those haunting words. Because really, what more could Moran have possibly said? This was indeed the final game. The final hit where it hurt the most.

John felt startlingly numb and hollow, like he'd been somewhere out of his own body. Outside of all… _this_. Away from the bomb that was ticking inside his head. Perhaps he was in a shock?

Come to think of it he'd seen something similar before. In the eyes of terminally ill patients who finally accepted their inevitable faith. In the eyes of all those soldiers, some of them just boys, who were brought before him with wounds no amount of skill would ever heal.

Through some sort of hue he observed how Sherlock began to pace around like a deranged wild beast, suspiciously moist and much too bright eyes full of rage, despair and flame. "We need to get you to a hospital. They'll take away the bomb. They'll…"

"Sherlock, no!" John could barely recognize his voice. "You're not taking me to a hospital with a bomb inside me! I'm not going to endanger all the people there!"

Sherlock's jaw tightened to an extend that must've been painful. "Then we'll have a surgeon sent here. Someone who isn't completely useless."  
John sighed, feeling very tired and old all of a sudden. "There's no time. According to the timer we have less than ninety minutes. And I won't wait until there's just seconds left."

Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously. Hurt, wounded, still determined. "Stop being a bloody idiot, John!" With that the detective turned on his heels and marched dramatically towards the room's door.

John frowned. Feeling a great deal colder than before for some reason. "Where are you going?"

"I'm calling Mycroft", Sherlock spat out like the words had been the worst thing he'd ever tasted. Their eyes locked and held, and in those moments they spoke far more than they ever had before. "I'm not going to let you play a martyr with me standing by."

John swallowed, a searing sensation taking over his eyes. "Sherlock…!" But the door slammed closed. And whatever the doctor wanted to say would forever remain a mystery.

* * *

With a loud and colorful flood of curses from Moran's lips Spencer opened his eyes. His supposedly dead fingers wrapped just a little more tightly around the gun hidden safely to an angle from which the killer couldn't see it. He breathed in once, then out.

"Lesson number one, Moran." Jason's voice was deep and calm. The same that once upon a time convinced Spencer that he'd be able to handle his job. The one he remembered. "Always secure the target and make sure that they've been terminated properly before letting your attention slip away from them."

At this point Spencer rolled to his back before rising slowly to a standing position, Jason's gun – a proper, functioning one as had been proven by the bullet that hit his kevlar vest – never straying from Moran.

Moran smirked although the man's eyes were smouldering. The useless gun was tossed aside brutally, like a broken toy. "Impressive", the man admitted through tightly gritted teeth. "I'm curious. How?"

Spencer shrugged, subtly securing the space around them. It still seemed to be just the three of them. "It was a magic trick", he stated with as much confidence and detachment as he could possibly muster. He had to keep himself together, now. "And a bit of profiling." He licked his lips, trying to calm his madly thrumming heart. "I knew that if I'd bring a gun in here it'd turn against me at some point. I also knew that you'd be unable to resist toying with my sentiment." It sounded simple enough now but a lot of things could've gone wrong. If Jason hadn't caught his hint of aiming for the heart… If Moran had decided to use his own gun on Jason instead… If Moran had caught him snatching the gun Jason dropped…

But he couldn't let himself get lost on that lane now. Spencer took a deep breath, surprised by how steady his hands were while he took two steps closer to Moran. "Take your gun and drop it to the floor." He went on once the man had obeyed with reluctance he could feel with every fibre of his being. "Now kick it further."

Moran did. The criminal emitted a loud scoff, both hands raised in a dramatic manner. "Well, here you go. I'm unarmed. You have the upper hand. What are you going to do next? Arrest me?"

Spencer gritted his teeth and licked his lips again, feeling a jolt of something he couldn't quite name. Dread, perhaps? "When I have no idea of how many people you have out there, keeping an eye on everyone I care about? Waiting for an excuse to strike? No." He breathed a couple of times, discovering with dismay that it made him feel dizzy. "What I want… What I want is answers."

Moran's eyebrow bounced up. "And what, exactly, are you willing to do to get them?" The man approached him, head tilted slightly. "You've always been the unpredictable one, you see? I wonder if your team has figured it out. So innocent – yet the first time you ever shot a suspect you aimed for his heart instead of a leg or an arm. Do you always aim to kill when it comes to your family?"

Spencer's eyes narrowed at that. "_Don't_… bring them into this", he half snarled.

Moran gave him a pitying look. "Don't be a fool, Spencey. It doesn't suit you." One more step closer, almost violating his private space. "They're already a part of this."  
Spencer wanted to, needed to, direct the conversation elsewhere. Away from everything he fought to protect. "Where is the bomb?"

"How does it feel?" Moran questioned with genuine curiosity, sizing him up. "To be able to understand the most dangerous and broken of all minds, while struggling to cope with basic human emotions. It makes you wonder all sorts of things about your own mind, doesn't it?"

Spencer's mouth hurt from how tightly his teeth were bit together. "The bomb, Moran. Where is it?"

Moran's teeth showed while the man flashed a dangerous look towards him. "You've always been fascinating. Ever since you were just a little boy. If things had gone differently I would've loved to see what I would've been able to turn you into."

It took all Spencer had not to lash out. To not give in to his animalistic side, the one that was roaring and screaming. His hold on the gun tightened. "Where… is… the… bomb?"

Moran's eyebrow arched. "So you honestly don't know? Well, that's certainly disappointing." The man was definitely crowding his personal space. The words were whispered so quietly that he barely heard them. "It's right where your heart is, of course. It's right there with your family."

Spencer's eyes widened while his heart stopped completely for several valuable beats.

* * *

Derek felt completely, infuriatingly helpless while he stood in the rapidly evacuated building, staring at a clearly good man who had bomb inside his head. Once upon a time he was a member of a bomb squad. He was a goddamn professional, yet without any proper data there was nothing he could do to spare John from…

The sound of a text message made all three of them jump. Emily swallowed loudly before pulling out her cell phone with a visibly trembling hand. It took a long moment before she managed to produce speech. "It's… It's Garcia. There's… The Reid family has a cabin."

Derek's heart skipped a beat that only intensified the fire in his veins. Too much adrenaline. "Reid's there."

Emily nodded. Her eyes seemed suspiciously moist when she glanced towards the doctor. "John…"

It was stunning how even in that unbelievable situation, despite the sheer terror swimming in those eyes, John's aura was almost comforting. "There's… There's bloody little you can do here, Emily. So go. He needs you."

There was a torn expression on Emily's usually calm and cool face. A painful pause of hesitation and grief lingered before she took a step forth, sealing John into a embrace that looked just like the ones she offered Spencer and Derek after the Cyrus nightmare. Her lips moved, producing something that nearly made John's composure crumble. John's barely noticeable nod was like the roar of a start pistol. Emily was running, clearly fighting not to glance over her shoulder.

If Derek was honest with himself he would've wanted to sprint right after her. His best friend was out there, in the hands of a madman. But he couldn't abandon John, not when…

"Derek." John's eyes were full of a soldier's determination. Or perhaps something beyond. "You need to get as far away from me as the building allows and make sure that all the doors are locked until it's safe. I'd tell you to get out, too, but somehow I doubt that you'd do it." The man gulped laboriously, eyes darting around for a couple of seconds. The controlled exterior slipping. "And… And you should call an ambulance. For me in… in case this works, and for you if… Well."

Derek realized that he was trembling. He tried desperately to come up with something to say but his head was too much of a mess. "Okay", was all he managed.

It seemed to be enough for John. Some of the haunted quality in that look faded. "Good. Stay away until you're sure that the timer's stopped, alright? And… You need to keep Sherlock out. Whatever happens. Promise me that you won't let him in here to see this."

Derek had no idea of how he'd ever manage that. But he couldn't say that to a possibly dying man. So he nodded, not even trying to smile. It took ages before he found his voice. Too long. "Is…" He cleared his throat. Even though he barely knew this man his eyes stung. "Is there something… I can do?"

He wondered if John knew of the Brit's nearly spilling tears. "Can I borrow your phone?"

* * *

Spencer's head was spinning and he could barely breathe. Could barely think. Which alone was terrifying.

"Now don't look so heartbroken. They know that the bomb is in their hands, you see. Whether they survive or not is entirely up to them. Natural selection at its finest." Moran's expression was even more threatening than before. "What I'd worry about instead… is those you left unprotected. The ones you thought I wouldn't be able to get my hands on."

Spencer frowned, icy dread traveling through. "What are you talking about?" Although a part of him was already beginning to suspect.

Moran smirked. "One of my… associates is in a carefully selected location. I told her that I'd call every hour. And should I fail… she is to call my cell phone, to give a reminder."

Something that tasted suspiciously lot like vomit rose into Spencer's throat. "A reminder?"

As though on cue a cell phone that lay on a nearby table began to ring. Chills went through Spencer when Moran smirked once more. "Do pick up. It's for you, after all."

Hesitantly, never once losing his aim or eye contact on the criminal, Spencer took the phone and picked after a mighty hesitation. "Hello?"

"_Uncle Spence?_" If nothing had made blood freeze into Spencer's veins before hearing Henry's small, clearly terrified voice did. Was the child crying?

Spencer swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to gag when a sick feeling exploded in the pit of his stomach. "Hi, buddy." He sounded out breath, fragile. _What have I done…?!_ "What… What's wrong? Are you okay?" _PLEASE…!_

"_Uh-huh, I'm all okay. Daddy… Daddy said that I need to be brave._" The relief that followed was short lived. "_But… Uncle Spence, I'm… I'm scared. Mommy's hurt real bad, and I… I want mommy. I… I don't like my 'sitter Zoe._" This time the tears were audible.

Good grief, how badly Spencer wanted to cry, right there and then. His jaw tightened to a point where it hurt like hell. "I know, I know." The sick feeling from before intensified tenfold. "I'm sorry." _I'm sorry…! I'm sorry…! I'm so sorry…!_

Henry kept sobbing but he could tell that hearing his voice had calmed the boy down, just a little bit. "_You… You'll keep her safe, right? Help her get all better._"

Spencer breathed out although it hurt far more than it should've. For a moment his eyes blurred but he blinked it away harshly. "Yeah, I will." There was steel hard conviction behind his words. "I promise." _Whatever it takes._

"_Good._" Thankfully Henry was too young to understand. There was someone talking, a female voice calling out to his godson. Spencer would've given anything if he would've been able to… "_I'll go and play, now. I love you, uncle Spence._"

Spencer emitted a choked sound that reminded him distantly of a sob. His chest was so tight that it burned. "I love you too, Henry. Don't ever forget that." With that the phone call ended decades before he would've been even remotely ready for it.

Spencer felt like he'd been burned up alive. While he was drowning. He gasped and gagged, almost lost his hold on the gun. Almost broke into tears.

"Reid?" For the first time there was fear in Jason's voice. "Spencer? What's going on?"

"Do you see it now?" Moran's expression was triumphant. So very full of satisfaction. "This game is out of your hands. Even if you'd be able to save one fellow player there'll always be some you'll lose. Unless you play by my rules."

Spencer's eyes narrowed. Against all his efforts a tear, just one, spilled to his cheek. "What do you want from me?"

"It's quite simple, Spencey. If you think about it." By then there wasn't a trace of emotions left on Moran's face. "I want you to die."

* * *

The conversation Sherlock had with his brother over the phone was heated, to say the least. He roared, threatened, bargained, heaven forbid there was a chance that he even begged. But there's only so much even British Government can do. With a resigned sigh Mycroft promised that he'd send a doctor but doubted that anyone would get there in time.

"_I'm sorry, Sherlock._"

Hearing those words Sherlock disconnected the call heatedly.

The detective breathed long and hard, his head spinning in a way that couldn't possibly be healthy. Struggling. Trying to figure out something, _anything_. Only to come up with a blank page. A blank page when his whole world was on the line.

He honestly thought that it couldn't possibly get any worse from there. But then, just as he was about to re-enter the building, he discovered that the doors had been locked automatically. He'd been sealed out.

Sherlock was about to smash the door when his cell phone began to ring. The emotions he'd fought against with all his might almost slipped through when something in him realized who the caller would be. "John, what is this?!"

"_I… I'm sorry Sherlock. But… I don't want you in here, to see this._" John's voice was a great deal calmer than it should've been.

Sherlock's rage was fueled even further. His eyes blurred for a long moment while he punched the wall so hard that his knuckles were torn raw. "You can't do this! John, you can't let Moriarty win, not after everything…!"

"_Sherlock, listen to me._" Had it been anyone else the sound that came might've been a sob. There was a long pause. "_I… I'm not giving up, alright? __Derek... He'll try and bring me back, as soon as it's over. Do you understand? __I… I'm not saying goodbye. __Or at least I bloody well wish I'm not. Because this… This isn't exactly the way that I've imagined going._"

Sherlock licked his lips. He could've sworn that he tasted a hint of salt but instantly decided that it was a trick of his imagination. "How the hell can you be so calm?" he hissed in a infuriating, slightly broken tone that wasn't his.

Was that a chuckle? "_Are you kidding me? I haven't been this scared since I got shot for the first time!_" There was a prolonged pause. "_But seriously Sherlock, listen to me, will you? Just this one bloody time. Can you do that?_"

Had the situation been different Sherlock would've scowled. (Because he _didn't_ pout.) "Of course", he barked out, his voice deep and not even nearly as steady as he would've liked. "Even a toddler can do that."

It took a touch too long before John managed to speak out. "_What… Whatever happens, I need you to know that you're the best man that I've ever met. __I'm… I'm still mad as hell at you, but I… __I understand. I really do, now. __So… __Thank you. For everything._"

Everything, absolutely everything, inside Sherlock went so cold that he could barely breathe. His heart seemed to lose its rhythm for a long moment. "How's that not a goodbye?" His voice sounded lost, nearly broken. He _hated_ it. _Hated _all of this.

There was a sob in John's chuckle. "_Shut up, you git._"

Sherlock grabbed his hair, almost hard enough to pull some off. The weight on his chest was killing him. "It's going to hurt, you know? A lot." Good grief, he sounded like a protesting child…!

John sighed. Sounding tired. Somehow far away already. "_I've faced worse._"

Those words hurt hell a lot more than they should've. Sherlock had hard time fighting off the wince and he had a feeling that he failed. "You'll go through it all alone." His desperate threat had a bitter jagged edge.

"_Sherlock…_" John's voice was a lot softer than before. "_Don't you see? I haven't been alone in a long time. I see that now. And whatever happens… You won't be alone, either. Ever. It'll be okay._"And somehow it felt like there was nothing more either one could've said. Until, of course, the doctor just had to go and speak out. "_I've… I've gotta go. Bye._" With that there was just the dial tone.

Sherlock stood absolutely still, his eyes wide and his heart thumping so fast that he was almost sure it'd burst. "John?" Nothing. Nothing but the infuriating dial tone. The taste and smell of salt made him feel sick to his stomach. He never noticed how a ambulance arrived.

"JOHN!"

Less than a minute later Derek, stood a safe distance away from John, felt a tremble cross him when he discovered that the timer on John's cell phone had stopped. It was done. And now time was running out again.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Awkay… So… Yeah. That was PAINFUL to type. I hope you all realize that before coming after me with butcher knifes. (winces)

Awright. (takes a deep breath) I deserve it. I know it, you know it. So don't spare me – let me hear your EXACT thoughts. Though before plotting on my death, allow me to remind you that it'd be strategically unwise to off the one person who can close this thing up officially.

I'm running for the hills, yeah? Um… Until next time? I truly hope that I'll see you all then. And that you won't be overly homicidal…

Peace out!


	9. The Reichenbach Fall

A/N: Guess what? I'm a day early! (grins) Right now Thursday updates suit my schedules better, sooooo…

BUT, before letting you get on with the actual story… THANK YOU, a thousand times over, for all of your support and especially for those fantastic reviews! I'll work my very hardest not to let you down with the last chapters of this story.

Awkay… (takes a deep breath) The title of this chapter in itself is ominous. We'll see what's buried inside…

* * *

The Reichenbach Fall

* * *

After his phone call to Sherlock John simply sat there on the floor for a few stolen moments. All alone, his heart thrumming madly. His eyes stinging although tears refused to come. Trembling so badly that he barely managed to maintain his hold on the taser.

There was nothing left unsaid, no regrets.

He closed his eyes and brought the taser to his skin, fighting furiously to ignore the sound of Derek's phone ringing on the floor. All of a sudden the fear was gone, determination taking its place. He wondered briefly if this was how Sherlock felt while making his own decision.

John could've sworn that he heard Sherlock's voice exactly one second before he pressed the button. A hellish surge of searing pain plunged _everything_ to darkness.

Then he opened his eyes to white.

For a while John thought that he was in a hospital. But there was none of the pain he'd been expecting. And all of a sudden he heard a voice that didn't belong to the world of the living anymore.

"What have you done to yourself this time, you big fool?"

John's eyes widened. If he'd had a heartbeat it would've most certainly paused right there and then. He turned around slowly, afraid that he wouldn't face what he desperately needed.

Mary was indeed right there, stood only a step away with a somewhat sad look on her face. Within his reach. No signs of the explosion that took her life in sight. Just the way he remembered her.

John gasped although air didn't exist where they were. He couldn't cry, not in that bizarre place, while a impossibly wide smile made it to his face. "I found you", he breathed you. "I finally found you."

* * *

Derek had faced a situation where CPR was needed a couple of times. They'd both been imprinted to his mind for all of time. Still nothing could've prepared him for what was waiting for him when he dashed into the room where John was.

For a beat or two it was easy to imagine that the doctor had simply fallen asleep. But then he came to think that the smaller man was far too still. He also discovered that there wasn't the slightest sign of breathing.

If one would've asked later Derek wouldn't have remembered a single thing he did since then. He was sure that he delivered CPR. That at some point he was screaming. (Because he sure as hell couldn't let another one slip right through his fingers…!)

And then he was ripped away from John by the strong and capable hands of two paramedics. They began to work on John with grim looks on their faces, spouting out words that didn't make any sense to Derek. The whole process appeared brutal, painful. Hadn't John gone through enough torment already?

Unable to watch anymore Derek turned his head, only to meet something even more heartbreaking. For there by the room's doorway stood Sherlock, arms folded and frozen to the spot. The detective's posture was stiff and something he just couldn't name lingered in those unnaturally wide eyes. The icy mask sat firmly but the cracks were spreading faster than the Brit could stop them. Until the end of his days Derek couldn't tell if the breath in the air actually came from the taller man or if it was a trick of his exhausted, concussed, chaotic and aching head.

"John, please…!"

* * *

Spencer stared at Moran for a long, stilled moment, fighting his hardest to take in the older man's words.

"So…" He was surprised by how even his voice sounded. Shock indeed does work miracles. "You're telling me that if I don't die… Henry will?"

Moran nodded patiently. There was a hint of amusement in the man's eyes. "That's right."

"Reid." Jason's eyes were filled with a torn look. The man's fists balled. "You can't just…!"

Spencer gritted his teeth, his heart thumping unhealthily fast. He'd attempt to come up with some sort of a plan, of course he would. He wasn't about to die without a fight. But first he'd need to get Jason out of the line of fire. "It's not like I have much of a choice here."

"While this is all highly entertaining…", Moran joined in, his tone betraying nothing. "… we don't exactly have all day. Nor does Henry."

Spencer gritted his teeth, his hold on the gun tightening significantly. It took all he had not to just… "What about Gideon? What are you going to do to him?"

Moran shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned Jason is free to go. I have no further use for him. However, I have one condition." Something sinister took over the man's eyes when they focused on the former agent. "You're not allowed to return to your son and his family. Nor are you allowed to approach your former team. If you as much as contact them they'll be dead, regardless of what happens to me. Is that understood?"

Jason nodded tersely, a million emotions blazing in those eyes. Spencer's chest tightened with pain. Once upon a time the man before him was a brilliant agent with a promising career. Now… Now he was chased to exile, away from everyone he cared about. Condemned to solitude.

Spencer swallowed loudly, blinking twice to chase away the sand itching his eyes. "I… I'm so sorry, Gideon", he half whispered, fighting to will himself into looking at the man. "For bringing you into this."

Jason shook his head. His former mentor attempted to maintain a brave front and failed. "This is not your fault, Spencer. Don't ever forget that."

Moran rolled his eyes and took a glance at his expensive looking wrist watch. "You have fifteen seconds to walk away from here, Jason, before I take your answer as a 'no'."

Reluctance was loud and clear in the air. But all choice had been stolen long ago. Jason's Adam's apple bobbed when the man gave Spencer a one more, long look before turning and walking away with tense steps.

_Goodbye._

Spencer felt something shatter inside of him, just a little bit, when he watched the man – his father figure, someone he used to confide in – walking away. Perhaps it was the whisper of inevitable. The final confirmation that it was really, truly over.

"Well, now that we're finally alone…" Moran's eyes were sharp and dangerous, seemed to see far more than they should've. "Why don't you give me that gun? Unless you want someone to put a bullet into your godson."

* * *

To John's stun and confusion Mary didn't return his smile. Instead a sombre, heartbroken look appeared to her face as she closed the distance between them, caressed his face with one hand. "John, sweetie… You're not supposed to be here. Not yet."

John frowned. He grabbed her hand, holding on tight and determined to never go. "What are you talking about? I… I've done everything I was supposed to. I belong here, now, with you and Hannah."

Mary shook her head. He would've done anything if he could've wiped away that grief in her eyes. She wasn't supposed to feel sadness, ever, especially here. "No, you haven't. There's still plenty waiting for you."

All of a sudden John felt very, very dizzy. Mary's face became blurry for a moment. Those voices… Were they real?

_"Don't you dare leave him behind. I doubt that he'd be able to take it."_

_"JOHN!"_

_"C'mon…"_

_"How long has he been…?"_

_"Breathe, John!"_

_"Come back…"_

_"Shit… We're losing him…!"_

John swallowed thickly, feeling a ton's weight sitting on his chest. On impulse he wrapped both arms as tightly as he could around Mary, pulled her close, searched desperately for her familiar scent that just wasn't there anymore. "I can't lose you again."

"You idiot…", she whispered with a great deal of affection. "Don't you get it already? You'll never, ever lose me. I promise."

The dizziness from before grew tenfold. John attempted to hold on tighter but couldn't. Mary… She was slipping away… "I love you." Because he needed her to know, no matter what'd happen. He couldn't let her go again without saying it.

"I've never had any doubt." She kissed his lips and for a fleeting moment he could almost taste her. "I love you, too. And I'll be right here waiting when your time comes. We both will be."

She was almost gone again although his hold hadn't actually slackened any. Despair flowing through him, filling his all, he looked at her once more, desperately attempting to imprint every little detail of her into his mind. As though he hadn't already done so while she was still alive. Then, out of reflex, his gaze shifted to the right. At that very instant he hoped desperately that he would've been still able to feel something, _anything_.

Because there, sitting on the ground and playing – so close, yet hopelessly far away – was a girl who seemed to be around five or six years old. Long, blond hair. Just the way he'd always imagined his daughter might've looked, if…

"Hannah?"

Hearing his whisper the child began to turn her head. Slowly, slowly. But just before he would've had the chance to see her face all became completely white once more.

"Everything's going to be alright, John." Mary's words escorted him to distant unknown. "It's going to be alright."

_"John, please…!"_

_"Time of death…"_

* * *

Spencer was led outside where sun was shining brightly, brushing his face like a warm, comforting hand. He hardly found any consolation with a gun pointed at him and every single person he cared about. As they advanced he discovered that the sounds of a rushing river were growing louder and louder. Soon enough they stopped to a cliff that opened a stomach turning fall downwards, to a hungry, treacherous stream and the rocks that were without a doubt lurking underneath the surface. It was a miracle if someone would survive a fall like that.

"Someone I knew very well said that falling's just like flying except there's a more permanent destination." Moran's eyes were ice cold and calculating upon examining him. "I'd like to find out if it's true. Soon enough you'll know."

Spencer looked down once more, unable to keep himself from shivering at the sight. "So that's how you're going to end this?" There were far more emotions in his voice than he would've liked. He wouldn't have wanted to give the monster beside him such satisfaction. "You'll make me jump."

"_Make_ you? Oh, don't be absurd, Spencey. You brought this on yourself. I'm merely a spectator."

Spencer chose not to comment. Instead he let his mind wander to his family. Towards all those he was preparing to leave behind.

How were they all, at the hospital?

Would they manage to find and stop the bomb in time?

Would they all survive?

If they did, would they ever forgive him for what he was about to do?

Would they understand?

Spencer wondered, in that hopeless and pitch black moment, if he'd ever get answers to those questions where he was headed.

"While you're busy making up your mind… There's a one more thing you should know", Moran remarked all of a sudden. Was that mischief or simply satisfaction? "I got a phone call, a while ago. Apparently a member of your team is on their way here. They were foolish enough to think that they'd be able to save you somehow."

Spencer's heart stilled completely for a couple of seconds under the weight of those words. He could actually feel color draining from his face. Numbness took over his body right before a storm of adrenaline spiked up.

"If I jump before they get here… will you spare them?"

"No." Moran's voice was devoid of all humanity. So were those eyes. "That's your price for disobeying me. I'll take care of the one who appears myself. You'll die knowing that there was a one more pawn you were unable to save."

Spencer stood absolutely still, his head whirring a million miles per hour.

His life being on the line was one thing. But that of a teammember's… Unacceptable.

He gritted his teeth, focusing on Moran. "Then I'll just have to take you down with me", he stated in a voice that didn't really sound like him at all. "I won't let you harm a single one of them anymore."

Moran's eyebrow bounced up. "Show me, then. How are you planning on stopping me?"

Without wasting another second Spencer – a person who'd never been much for one on one fights – charged forth. Fueled by thoughts of just how much he had to lose. How very much he had to fight for.

Fists and legs swung, a former soldier and a brutal killer taking on a FBI-agent. A strike after another met flesh. Soon enough blood stained their hands and the ground below them but neither noticed, nor did they pay any mind to the pain. They went after one another like wild animals, without the slightest hint of mercy. Damaging skin, the tissues below, even bone.

Considering the ribs Moran succeeded in breaking earlier Spencer fought back remarkably well. But his body was doomed to meet its limits. A swift kick to the stomach sent him down, out of breath and gasping, blinking rapidly to chase away the haze as fast as possible.

He wasn't quick enough. Not against a man who was an expert in combats like this. The gun was there once more, pointed mercilessly at him.

"A headshot would be reliable. But this… is far more satisfactory." Moran sighed. There wasn't a hint of remorse on the man's face. Not that he would've expected any. "It's such a tragedy that someone like you must end like this."

The trigger was pulled before Spencer realized properly what was happening. At first he couldn't feel a thing. Then, so suddenly that he shivered, a warm stain began to grow on the fabric covering his lower abdomen. Right below his vest. Spencer blinked rapidly, desperate to remain conscious for a little bit longer. But he was fighting a losing battle. The edges of his vision began to blur.

"Shh…", Moran whispered. "Just go to sleep. It's over, now."

Sure enough, darkness came.

* * *

Sherlock didn't notice the pain in his bloodied hands from when he'd injured them to break down a door that kept him from getting to John. He floated somewhere very far away. He attempted to escape into his Mind Palace but even that shelter wasn't granted for him. Instead he was stuck in a limbo, watching as those completely useless people began to give up on John. And he couldn't even find the goddamned breath to roar at them to keep going. To scream at them that John Watson would never, ever give up and neither should they.

Apparently he did have a heart, after all. Because at that very moment it was being torn to shreds, one little piece at a time. Such overload paralyzed his usually reliable transport. Made it impossible to detach himself or run away from the agony.

One of the medics, a young man who looked far too much like Anderson for comfort, sighed heavily. The look in those eyes spoke far before words. "Time of death…"

Sherlock saw it long before the professionals did. A slight twitch of fingers. One, just one, feeble breath, soon followed by another. A shimmer of hope.

It was amazing how quickly the men who'd just been about to give up were once more full of activity. Fighting to maintain the still feeble signs of life, administrating medication, barking orders and medical nonsense. Sherlock ignored the useless pair entirely. Just as easily as he ignored Derek's hands attempting to hold him back.

His face was a stony mask to anyone observing, despite the trembling absolutely everywhere inside him and on his body, when Sherlock took John's hand and squeezed with the sheer power of despair. If that was what John needed – something to ground him, to call him back… Then so be it.

They attempted to keep Sherlock from following them into the ambulance. After all they needed room to function and the detective was hardly a member of the doctor's family. Sherlock didn't even register their words and in a couple of minutes they gave up in favor of focusing on John.

Sherlock didn't let go of John's hand even once during the impossibly long drive to the hospital. His hold may have been tight enough to disturb blood's normal circulation but he didn't care. John's hand was warm and alive in his. His fingers never fidgeted from the pulse point.

Perhaps it was a trick of his imagination or simply foolish sentiment, but at some point he could've sworn that John's fingers twitched, attempting to hold back.

Sherlock held just a little tighter in response, the stoic mask covering his features dangerously close to cracking.

_Don't you dare let go._

* * *

For the longest time Sebastian stared at the body before him. His face without any detectable emotion, his head tilted slightly as he observed how the younger man's breaths grew more and more laboured. Stun bubbling under his skin.

So... It was over? Just like this?

How unticlimatic.

With a sigh he snatched his cell phone and dialed numbers. "It's been done. You may leave, now. The cops are on their way."

He barely managed to hang up before there was a sudden, swift kick that struck him like a pile of bricks. He stumbled and fell on one knee, looking up with a growl and blazing eyes to find out what hit him. Surprise made one of his eyebrows rise.

"Well, bloody hell…", he murmured, straightening his form. A small smirk made its way to his lips. "Aren't you a tough one to kill?"

Despite the fact that Spencer had barely managed to get up and was swaying dangerously where he stood the doctor's eyes were full of fire and lava. With determination to keep fighting even if it wasn't for himself anymore. "I won't let you hurt them", the young man snarled through tightly gritted teeth, a small stream of blood seeping through while the man attempted to keep pressure on the gunshot wound. "Not anymore."

Sebastian chuckled. "Do you honestly think that you have any hope at all of stopping me?" He sighed and shook his head. Pointed a gun at the other. "Oh, Spencey… It would've been such pleasure to have someone like you to work with."

But oh, Spencer wasn't done fighting just yet. With what was most likely the last of the younger man's strength the agent charged forth, attempting to tackle him. Sebastian stumbled slightly from the unexpected impact. The gun slipped from his fingers, flying over the edge they were approaching fast. One man's balance broke and the other followed soon.

Somehow they both knew right then that their fates were sealed.

* * *

Emily arrived to the scene exactly three seconds after it was much too late to actually stop anything. Her whole system stilled for a mighty moment while her constantly widening eyes attempted to take in what was happening right before her. Unwilling to register.

_NO!_

"Reid!"

A sudden breeze swept away her scream completely. Or perhaps she never really voiced it at all. That hardly mattered.

Because while she kept sprinting up the hill that separated her from one of her dearest friends, slipping and almost stumbling, the horrible play above came to an end.

Emily couldn't tell which bleeding, injured man's footing slipped. Refusing to let go of one another they both stumbled closer to the edge. And over it.

And the last thing Spencer's unnaturally wide eyes saw before emptiness swallowed him up was her face.

"SPENCER!"

* * *

Not much later a group of heavily armed police officers barged into JJ and Will's house. They expected hard, armed resistance. Instead they found Henry all alone, crying hysterically.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Ooooh… snap! I really should run now, right? (sprints away, dodging thrown objects) Those poor things!

PLEASE, do leave a review and let me know all your thoughts! Go on ahead. I have a feeling that you may have a word or two to say about all these cliffies… (gulps)

This story's really, really close to ending. Let's hope that the ending will be a at least remotely happy one. (sobs a bit)

Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll all turn up then.

Take care!


	10. All Hearts Are Broken

A/N: Yup, I'm back with another Thursday update! (grins)

Before getting to the actual business, though… Thank you so much for the reviews and tons of support! It really means a lot to me. (hugs) So thank you!

Awkay… (gulps) Because I may just chicken out if I stall any longer, let's get going. I truly hope that you'll enjoy this one.

Uh… I'm sorry?

* * *

All Hearts Are Broken

* * *

It was one of those moments when time simply stood still for Emily. She was completely unmoving, barely even breathing, trembling down to the very core of her being. There was mud on her clothes and a few droplets of blood on her hands from scratching them to the ground. She couldn't bring herself to wipe them away. And there was one of her best friends who just took a who knows how long fall. Who could be…

When Emily finally did move it was in slowed motion, her limbs hell a lot heavier than they should've been. Her vision swayed in a sickening manner while she fought her way forward, the tremors intensifying with each step. Her lips opened, a distant part of her noted, but she couldn't hear a single word.

"Reid? Spencer? REID!"

It seemed to take a small eternity before she finally reached the edge. Instinctively one of her hands slid to her gun while she peered over, her heart hammering and on the verge of stopping altogether at the same time. The sight she met numbed her entirely.

Spencer… was nowhere to be seen. The genius had fallen all the way down where the greedy stream had taken him away, carried him who knows where. Spencer was…

Wait.

All of a sudden she saw something on a slope about halfway down. A figure the bushes didn't quite manage to cover. Her pulse quickened with rapidly rising fool's hope. It was a tall, brown haired man in a long, black jacket. For a moment the still, bloodied figure that lay on his stomach appeared all too familiar. Until she saw a scar on the man's cheek. This wasn't the man she would've desperately wanted to see. This was Sebastian Moran. Was he alive? In that pitch black moment of injustice and bloodthirst Emily wished from the bottom of her aching heart that he wasn't.

If Moran would remain in a world where Spencer was…

Emily's hand grabbed her gun properly, began to raise it. The look in her suddenly blurry eyes changed, became such that would've chilled anyone. Her jaw tightened as the decision was eventually made.

She could make sure that Moran would never, ever rise again.

There was no telling if Emily would've actually taken the shot. Because she never made it all the way through. All of a sudden the forest was full of noise when the medics and reinforcement she called before leaving her car arrived, crowding around her.

They were asking all sorts of questions she just couldn't answer. She arrived too fucking late to see, to do a thing. Yet somehow she managed to arrive just in time to witness Spencer…

It pushed her near the point of insanity that she couldn't really do anything while total strangers began the battle of finding one of her dearest friends before it'd be too late. And they were too slow. She eventually blew up when one of them – a woman of her age with roughly cut blond hair and large grayish blue eyes – walked up to her. "Are your people even trying to find him?" she hissed.

The medic's brown eyes were apologetic. Firm yet tender. So was the hand laid on her shoulder. The woman was clearly used to dealing with distraught people. "Ma'am… I'm truly sorry for your friend. But… No one would survive a fall like that. I need you to understand that we most likely won't find him alive."

Emily felt lava rushing through her veins. She didn't even notice the tears running down her cheeks. "Let… go", she growled in a dangerous voice she couldn't recognize. It felt like someone had pushed a button. The rage came flooding out. "You sure as hell won't find him alive if you don't even try! Stop wasting time on coddling me when you're supposed to be looking for him!"

With a heavy sigh the medic did let go. "I'm sorry." The worst part was, perhaps, that Emily recognized the other woman's tone. She'd used it far too many times herself.

Emily barely noticed the medic walking away. All she could focus on was the edge and the merciless sight spreading down below. On the constantly dimming, unrealistic hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Spencer was still somewhere down there, waiting. Hanging on.

Minutes melted together.

She didn't really pay any attention to the medics fighting to keep Moran alive, couldn't bring herself to care about the outcome at the moment. Instead she kept staring at the stream, at the few people walking down there in a far too vague search. Her eyes full of desperate need to spot _anything_.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

* * *

When John woke up again it was all white once more. For a moment of confusion he wondered if he was dead again. That was until he felt the pain radiating from his chest. His head felt like it'd been splitting in two. He groaned and frowned, attempted to move.

_What…?_

A hand showed up to keep him down. A familiar hand, although at the moment it was disconcertingly tender. As though afraid of harming him further. "Don't be an idiot, John." Sherlock's face betrayed nothing. Those eyes were a different story. "Lay down. Rest. Those infuriating doctors and nurses of yours are going to throw me out if I make you anxious. So sleep."

John frowned again, not quite satisfied with the information he'd received thus far.

Sherlock seemed to notice this. "They were able to remove the bomb. That would be why your head's hurting. Now would you just sleep? Your struggle is getting irritating to watch."

Although John's eyelids felt impossibly heavy he fought furiously against sleep for a little bit longer, instead focused on the detective. Seeing and, indeed, observing. Finally understanding dawned.

Sherlock… saved his life, once upon a time. Now… Now, Sherlock was the very reason he was still alive. Someone still needed him.

/ _"I'd be lost without my blogger."_ /

There was an aura of awkwardness around them, though. They'd both seen and been through too much. Lost too much. John wasn't ready for forgiveness over his heart being torn to pieces, over losing his whole world, not yet.

But goddamnit, they were both still alive by a whole series of miracles. Somehow they were still together. Didn't that mean something?

A tiny smile appearing to his lips John finally closed his eyes and relaxed. He could've sworn that he felt a hand in his just before he went under. For once he didn't have dreams.

* * *

JJ felt oddly numb when consciousness began to flood back in. Like something had been stolen from her. She frowned, furiously struggling to force some focus into her head.

"JJ?" That voice… It was familiar. It was right there, on the tip of her tongue… "Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

Pushing all her strength to the process JJ struggled, finally managing to force her eyes halfway open. Everything was blurry for the longest time until David's face came into focus. There was a bandage on the atypically pale man's forehead and he was wearing a hospital gown. She didn't like the much too serious look on his face.

She frowned and licked her lips. "…what…?" Her voice cracked pathetically.

David offered her a couple of sips of blissfully cold water through a straw before speaking. "Will… had to go home for a bit. To see Henry. They should be here soon. I promised to keep you company in the meantime."

JJ nodded slowly, feeling a stab of disappointment at not seeing her husband and son. She swallowed, shivering at how sore her throat felt. "What happened?" She remembered the sound of a explosion. Screaming. Then… nothing. How long had she been asleep? What happened to the others?

David seemed to hesitate, which did nothing to soothe her. "We… walked into a trap. The warehouse blew up. It's a miracle that we all made it out alive."

Something squirmed uncomfortably in the pit of JJ's stomach. As though a part of her had been suspecting long before she actually found out. Something was off. With that thought she was pushing herself to a sitting position.

David's eyes widened just a little bit. "Hey, don't…!"

It was too late. For JJ was already sitting up. And at that very moment she noticed that there was a flat spot underneath the blanket, right where her left leg from knee down should've been.

David gulped loudly. "The doctors… They did everything they could, JJ. But… The damage was too much. They had no other choice."

JJ's eyes widened and her heartrate shot up. Her breathing pattern became far from healthy while she reached out a trembling hand. Tried to feel what wasn't there anymore. Meeting only soft fabric where flesh and bone should've been. Tears filled her eyes. Her lips opened but she couldn't produce a sound.

"I'm so sorry, JJ."

_He_ was sorry? He wasn't the one who…! He wouldn't have to…!

Producing a trapped, wounded sound JJ finally broke down to sobs.

* * *

Two floors above in the children's ward Emily sat on a uncomfortable chair, unable to take her eyes off the boy sleeping in a bed right before her eyes. Physically he seemed to be doing a lot better than on the day she found him from that horrific warehouse. He'd gained some weight and there was a healthy color on his face. The wounds had almost healed. But emotionally there was a very, very long journey ahead. Nightmares came far more often than not, the child didn't feel comfortable with anyone's touch and his mood could change from one extreme to another in a flash. Language issues made it all a thousand times harder. So did the fact that the boy didn't have _anyone_.

They'd finally found out his name. It was Robert Greenaway. He was Elle's son, the most important person she was forced to leave behind. His father's name wasn't documented but it didn't take a lot to detect the obvious traces of Sebastian Moran.

The boy seemed a lot like Spencer, too, which made looking at him painful at times.

Based on the information Emily had managed to fish out Robert had spent most of his time with Moran, under strict surveillance. He never met his mother without a guard or Moran himself standing by. Emily couldn't even imagine what it must've been like for Elle, not being able to create a proper bond with her own child. Without a doubt Moran had used Robert to blackmail Elle. Emily wondered just how much the woman had been forced to do for her son. She wondered if Robert knew how very much his mother loved him.

All of a sudden Emily wished that she'd taken the opportunity and just shot Moran. For Spencer. For her whole team. For Robert. For Elle. Dying in a ambulance before it even reached the hospital was far too kind of a fate for the monster.

Emily shivered when the child shifted all of a sudden and emitted a tiny sound of displeasure. A small hand reached out, obviously looking for something. She took it cautiously, prepared to let go at the sight of any protest from the boy. Nothing such could be seen. In fact the traumatized child relaxed with a deep sigh, falling deeper into a peaceful sleep.

Emily smiled, beginning to rub the back of his hand with her thumb. Her lips opened but in the end she chose against speaking. Some moments were just better off left silent.

Emily was startled when the room's door opened all of a sudden. In walked a middle-aged nurse with shortcut, red dyed hair and warm brown eyes. "So he's charmed you too, huh? It looks like he's got all of the ward wrapped around his little finger."

Emily smiled faintly, focusing on the boy while the nurse changed his IV bag and wrote down the vitals. "When he's discharged…" She swallowed, all too aware of how dangerous voicing the rest might be. She squeezed the boy's hand just a little bit tighter. In his sleep he returned the hold. "What happens to him?"

The nurse sighed. "He has no living family. The social workers have already started working on his case but… It's hard to find a home for someone like him." She felt eyes on her but didn't look. "He, of all children, would deserve a good home after everything he's been through. Wouldn't it be good to give him one?" So saying the nurse took her leave.

Emily sat there absolutely frozen. Unable to take her eyes off the child. And her head answered before she had the time to process it.

_Yeah, it would._

Emily had been so deep in thoughts since entering the room that she hadn't noticed that the tv was on. Not before a news broadcast began. Not until the words floating out crashed down on her like a wall of bricks.

Emily was running long before she even realized that she was moving.

* * *

This time John woke up with a considerably clearer head and instantly got the feeling that he'd been sleeping for too long. His head hurt a little and his throat felt scratchy but his chest seemed to be fine. The steady beating of his heart monitor announced that there was a stable beat. John took a deep breath and blinked slowly, twice.

It was overwhelming, to come back from the dead.

A long moment passed before John felt that he wasn't alone. Turning his head he blinked again, this time with surprise. Sherlock had actually fallen asleep into a relatively uncomfortable looking position on a chair beside his head. The bags underneath the detective's eyes suggested that the man had put up a mighty fight before succumbing to exhaustion.

The sudden voice startled John although it was relatively quiet and familiar. "I'm fairly sure that he reached a new record. I was afraid that I'd have to ask the staff to result into sedatives."

John's eyes traveled slowly to the other side of his bed, finding a pair of eyes he'd been avoiding since Sherlock's infamous fall. Mycroft Holmes had actually lost weight this time, it seemed. The man had aged considerably more than the time that'd passed. Those eyes were nothing short of haunted. All those obvious signs of suffering were almost enough to chase away John's rage, the memories of how that man before him sold out his own brother.

Almost.

John's eyes narrowed. Ignoring the discomfort and dizziness he pushed himself to a sitting position, half-subconsciously positioning himself so that he was partially shielding Sherlock. "What… are you doing here?" he growled.

Had he been dealing with anyone else he would've thought that it was hurt he saw, for the slightest moment. Mycroft sighed. "As much as your continued loyalty to my brother touches me, I'd much rather not handle sentiment right now. I just had a long flight and you know how much I detest legwork."

John shrugged, gritting his teeth. "Maybe you should've stayed in London, then", he pointed out. Why did the Holmes brothers have to be so infuriatingly good at giving him a headache?

Mycroft appeared unimpressed. "And risk my brother causing a major international conflict? That was hardly an option."

Well, John couldn't really voice objections to that. He gathered himself for several seconds before daring to go on. "You still didn't tell me what you're doing here."

Mycroft's jaw tightened. The British government seemed… hesitant, almost. "Certain news reached me. I felt the need to get here before Sherlock finds out. Although, chances are that he already knows."  
John gulped, feeling cold all of a sudden. His heart monitor's beeping increased. "What news?" he demanded.

Mycroft's eyes focused on Sherlock. Spotted no signs of awareness. "Dr. Reid is dead."

* * *

In the hospital's waiting room Derek and Penelope, who barged in the day before with a load of bags and tears in her eyes, sat in a grim silence, both of them tense and their heads full of a million thoughts. Penelope was trying to busy herself with knitting although her hands were trembling so badly that the task was nearly impossible. Derek had one arm wrapped around her while he sat completely unmoving, his eyes full of shadows.

It'd been three days. Three long, exhausting days of waiting, hoping, praying and fearing the worst. The whole still standing team basically lived in the hospital. What else were they supposed to do when they'd been banned from the search for Spencer? They were stuck in a endless loop of uncertainty.

Three fucking days, and how much had changed?

JJ would never have her leg back.

Aaron was still slipping in and out of consciousness and they, as well as Jessica, were running out of things to say to comfort Jack who kept crying after his dad.

Spencer was still… missing.

Derek gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt, blinking furiously to get rid of the stinging in his eyes.

His best friend was missing and there wasn't a single thing he could do. The search had been left for professionals – he'd only be in the way, in worst case scenario cause a delay that'd turn out crucial. Once again he'd failed to protect the man he'd from the beginning viewed as his little brother. He didn't know what to do with the weight of guilt that was sitting on his chest like an elephant. It was driving him insane. He could imagine that it was even worse for Emily. After all she'd been there to see the fall with her own eyes. She hadn't met his, Penelope's or David's eyes even once since. In fact she seemed to spend as much time as she could away from them. Derek wished that he'd had the strength to tell her that it wasn't her fault, that it wasn't any of their fault. He wished that he'd had the strength to believe it.

Spencer was somewhere out there, all alone. He knew that, because he couldn't imagine that he wouldn't have felt anything if the genius was really gone. Spencer was out there, waiting for them to find him, and there was nothing he could do.

His and Penelope's eyes turned towards the room's door when it opened. David walked in, a grim look on his face and despite his clearly pronounced limp stubbornly refusing to use a cane. "She's awake", he announced instantly.

Derek shivered, subconsciously tightening his hold on Penelope when she emitted a gasp. "How did she take the…?" He couldn't bring himself to say the rest.

David simply shook his head with a heavy sigh, slumping down to the nearest chair that he could find.

Derek's lips parted although he had no idea of what he was about to say. Nor did he have the time to find out. For just then Emily rushed into the room. It didn't take a lot to discover the nearly spilling tears shining in her eyes. Derek's heart stopped for a few precious seconds when he suddenly knew. The whole world seemed to blur, slip out of focus.

Penelope frowned, clearly not quite wanting to believe the truth just yet. "Emily? What's wrong?"

The brunet didn't even attempt to speak. Instead she turned on the tv, where a report of local news was running. And all of a sudden the whole world stilled entirely.

The anchor, a young woman with neatly done black hair and solemn dark eyes, had a very serious look on her face. "_Earlier this morning a pair of hikers found a body by the river behind me. It has now been confirmed that the deceased was a federal agent who went missing three days ago. The authorities are still quiet about further details…_"

David's mouth hung open while whatever little color there'd been on the man's face drained away. Penelope broke down into loud, hysterical sobs. A couple of tears finally escaped Emily's eyes when they met Derek's, pleading.

_I'm sorry…! I'm so sorry that I couldn't…!_

Derek couldn't take it anymore. Faster than he could hear if anyone was calling out after him he barged out of the room, his whole body and soul aching, his eyes nearly overflowing. He wished from the bottom of his heart that he would've been able to scream but couldn't produce a sound.

He didn't know where he was going. If he'd ever find the will to come back. All he knew was one thing.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

* * *

_"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage."_

(Mycroft Holmes in 'BBC's Sherlock'.)

* * *

It was a blur of murmurs, more whispers than anything else.

"_… you hear me? _…"

"… _nice and easy_ …"

"… _open your eyes, now_ …"

"… _You've slept long enough, darling._ …"

A pair of long ago closed eyes flew open.

* * *

TBC, for an epilogue

* * *

A/N: Oh, snap…! The poor team! (winces) Poor Spencer!

But seriously, who just woke up? We've got two options…

PLEASE, do let me hear your thoughts! I'm pretty sure that you have some after a bomb like that… (hides) Ummm… Would cookies soothe your wrath? (dodges thrown objects) Fair enough...

Until the next and (sobs) last time! I seriously can't believe that this is coming to an end. (wipes eyes) I really hope that you'll all join in for that one.

Take care!


	11. Epilogue

A/N: I seriously can't believe that this is coming to an end! (gawks and gasps)

Before letting you get to the closure, though… THANK YOU, several times over, for all your reviews for the previous chapter! You seriously know how to make an author's day. (smiles like a sunshine)

Awkay… This is really nerve-wrecking for me, so I'll just go through with this before I get cold feet. I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy this final piece!

* * *

Epilogue

* * *

_Seven Months Later_

* * *

/ _It was a occupational hazard that sometimes Sebastian Moran ran into the family members of those he… had to take care of permanently._

_Thunder boomed loudly when there was a knock on his motel room's door. He hesitated for the longest time before walking slowly to open. His gun was never far from his reach. What he found behind the door made him arch an eyebrow._

_It was a considerably younger man than him with brown hair and the most mesmerizing dark eyes he'd ever seen. Something about those bottomless pools chilled him to the bone. The icy smirk that appeared only intensified the affect. "You're Sebastian Moran."_

_Sebastian growled inwardly and his eyes narrowed. "You've got the wrong guy, kid", he announced, doing his best to hide his Irish accent. He was already closing the door._

_The kid, however, wasn't having any of it. The hand that stopped his efforts was firm, uncompromising. Those eyes changed, became something truly terrifying. "You killed my brother."_

_Sebastian groaned, one of his hands already grabbing his gun. This was getting tedious. "If you came to kill me…"_

_"I didn't." That expression was nothing short of manic. "I'm James Moriarty. And I came because I want you to help me make the world burn."_ /

* * *

Erin Strauss was hard. Rational. Some people even called her heartless. She was hardly made of stone, yet when the situation called for it she did what was necessary.

Some days she truly hated her job.

There was a carefully schooled emotionless mask on her face when Aaron Hotchner entered and sat down slowly to the chair on the opposite side of her desk. A man who could've very well died yet had already been in active duty for the past two months, stunning and quite possibly frustrating his doctors. Yet there was hardly any joy on his far too pale face or in his haunted eyes now. He was a teamleader who lost one member of his crew – _family_ – while he was asleep, who woke up to a world where one of his own didn't exist anymore. Who woke up to a nightmare that refused to end. And today Erin was forced to add weight on those stiff shoulders.

She took a breath before starting out in a voice that was nothing short of formal. "I'm under the impression that you know why I called you in." There was no use in dodging the inevitable.

Aaron nodded stiffly. "Yes." Curt, out of animosity and discomfort. He'd mostly recovered from the effects of the explosion, apart from occasional aches and sores when he overdid himself. Despite hours of speech therapy long sentences were, however, still hard for him. And he was determined not to show weakness in front of her.

He wouldn't have the chance to play avoiding game today. Erin gritted her teeth. "Tell me about your team. How are they holding up?"

Aaron shuddered like someone who'd just been punched or shot at. It took a very long moment before he managed to answer, and not just because of his disability. "Dave… is quiet. Reid was… special, to him. He thinks of leaving every day and… would, if he could. I can tell, although he'd never admit it." There was a long pause. There seemed to be something outside the room's window that caught the unit chief's interest. "Morgan… is angry. Constantly. I've already suspended him once." Yes, Erin heard of that incident, of course. The man beat up a suspect who was a part of Sebastian Moran's web to a point of nearly killing the man. Erin received a lot of frowns and was almost demoted herself for not firing him. "He… keeps waiting. Doesn't want to believe that…" The man swallowed, his muscles stiffening visibly. There was a prolonged pause. "Garcia… tries to help everyone. Doesn't give herself the chance to grieve. She'll try, for us, until she runs out of strength completely." His fists balled and for a moment there seemed to be moisture in those eyes. Just a moment. Perhaps it was the injury's doing. It caused a huge blow on Aaron's formerly nearly flawless self control. "JJ's struggling. She's lost too much." Oh, Erin knew that. She'd read the therapist's report. JJ had been back about the same amount of time as Aaron – as a media liaison once more, never again as a active field agent. Her prosthetic leg was still giving her a hard time occasionally, almost as much as the phantom pains. Henry and Will were a great help with keeping the woman sane and functioning but the weight of it all was still pushing her down to a point where she had night terrors and needed a rather heavy dosage of medication. "And Emily… left, again." She barely stayed until Spencer's funeral.

Erin didn't need to ask of Aaron's own state of mind. The evidence sat right there in front of her. If it wasn't for Jack, and Beth… She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Now came the hard part. "Your team is struggling, Aaron. Barely coping. Barely functioning, especially short of members. I've been forced to pull a lot of strings to be able to keep it from being split or worse. I'm not sure how much longer my influence will be enough. And that's why I have a… suggestion." She pushed several envelopes towards him, trying to ignore his look of anger, disappointment and mistrust. "This… is the best I can do. You wouldn't work together but you'd all have decent positions. You'd all get the chance to start anew." She looked at him long and hard. "What's your decision?"

* * *

In a entirely different country Dr. John Watson sat in a room that'd become uncomfortably familiar to him. Although this time the discomfort wasn't quite as overwhelming. He felt… almost calm, if he was perfectly honest with himself. Content, even.

Ella Thompson seemed to notice. She tilted her head, even dared to smile. "You seem happy today, John. Would you like to share?"

John didn't really know where to begin. So much had changed over the past few months. _He_ had changed.

Things still weren't easy with Sherlock. He wasn't angry and bitter anymore but the trust between them had been broken, not quite beyond repair but badly. Still he'd been back in 221B Baker Street for the past two months. Somehow nothing else just felt like home, at least not anymore after Mary and Hannah. He needed the comfort of familiar, the comfort of having Sherlock close to him and being able to see for himself that the detective was indeed alive, even well. It'd been a struggle at first, since no matter how hard he tried things couldn't be the way they were once anymore. They'd both changed far too much during the time they were forced to spend apart. But they adjusted. They learned to share their space with each other. They were even beginning to get to know each other again.

Sherlock withstood when John's anger and pain came flooding out. John learned to deal with Sherlock's night terrors. Sherlock was quick to deduce ways to blow life into his friend on the days when John just couldn't get himself out of the bed. While John helped Sherlock repair his bonds with the people the detective left behind Sherlock, heaven forbid, made sure that John ate and slept enough for it to keep the doctor functioning. Perhaps they even learned how to fix each other again. Because slowly yet surely the dosage of sleeping pills and antidepressants John was forced to take just to make it through were lowered. Bit by bit Sherlock reeked less and less of tobacco and the trapped look in the detective's eyes began to ease.

_Trust _would take time, but John no longer felt like he was in the presence of a stranger whenever he spent time with Sherlock.

John took a surprisingly easy breath. "It's… not something that happened overnight." He shrugged somewhat helplessly. "Things are just finally getting better."

Ella smiled and nodded, making some notes. This time he didn't feel the need to read them upside down. "I'm glad to hear that." She paused for a moment, musing. "What about the cases? According to the newspapers you're working them again."

John nodded eagerly, even the mere thought bringing a pleasant tingle underneath his skin. "We do. Greg's given us four of them as of today."

"And how have they been?"

John smirked. His hands were perfectly steady. "Brilliant", he announced without hesitation.

There was a long moment of quite pleasant silence until Ella spoke once more. Was that… hesitation on her face? "During our past few sessions we've talked a lot about forgiveness. Where do you stand now?"

John's face became far more solemn. For a few seconds he observed how shadows moved on the room's floor. "He thinks that I blame him for what happened to Mary and Hannah, but that's not it. I… will never forget the pain he put me through with that fall, no matter what his reasons were. He broke me. Wasn't there when I needed him to most." He breathed. Once. Twice. "However… I've now been where he was, back then. And… I understand." There was this odd warmth inside of him when he looked at his therapist. As though realizing all of this for the very first time. "It was a miracle that we found each other in the first place, back then. We've had countless of second chances. If that doesn't prove that our friendship is worth the fight… then bloody hell, I don't know what could."

* * *

Several hours after his meeting with Strauss, after unsuccessfully attempting to clear his head, Aaron decided that it was time to come clean to the team. They gathered around Spencer's desk, from which the late young profiler's nameplate had never been taken off. Dust aside, the desk looked like the genius had never abandoned it. The sight was absolutely heartbreaking but none of them had the will to do anything about it.

"So…", Derek started, folding his arms defensively. "What schemes was Strauss pulling this time?"

Aaron lifted an eyebrow.

David shrugged. "You went to see her and spent the following few hours locked into your office, Aaron. We're profilers. We can tell that something's wrong."

Aaron decided to cut the chase. There was no use in dodging the bullet with a group of skilled profilers. "Strauss… offered us a choice. To stay, or to head towards new." He offered them the envelopes, already knowing what was in them. Erin had been quite open about it.

Derek was offered a position as a instructor in self defense and profiling. JJ was offered back her one time job in Pentagon. Penelope was offered a very tempting position in another team. David was offered the chance to build up a team of his own that'd investigate cases already declared cold. Aaron himself was offered the chance to lead another team, quite far away from pain and memories.

Derek snorted loudly, glaring at the letter heatedly before throwing a look his way. "What the hell is this? Another attempt from Strauss the divide us?"

Aaron shook his head. "No. She's offering us a way out. It's up to us if we take them."

Several minutes passed by in a stunned silence, each of them attempting to grasp on just what was going on. Someone gasped. Another one scoffed. Was that… a supressed sob? But in the end the decision was made.

Derek went first, tearing his envelope and letting the pieces scatter all over Spencer's old desk. David went next, appearing far more relaxed than Aaron had seen his friend in all of these past seven months. Garcia followed just a little bit later. JJ hesitated the longest. Ghosts and pain lingered in her eyes while she stared at the paper in her hands, at her ticket away from all of the baggage. But then her expression changed entirely. There was no hesitation in her hands while she tore the envelope to tiny pieces and cast them away.

For the first time in ages Aaron felt the beginning of a smile tickling the corners of his lips, despite the weight still sitting on his chest. Exhaling a surprisingly light breath he tore his own envelope, watched how the pieces floated onto Spencer's desk like snowflakes. "So…", he murmured. "We're staying." Surprisingly it felt like a liberating thought rather than a verdict.

JJ nodded, no hesitation visible in her eyes. "Yeah. For Spence."

The others found it easy to agree. Tiny smiles could be seen, even if it was through nearly spilling tears. "For Spencer", they all agreed.

Yes, they were battered. They'd probably never be the same again. But they were still a family, even if one of them was missing. They were still alive to go on and see another day. If there was anything their youngest taught them it was that their family was worth the fight. They'd make it through, together – they'd have to. They owed Spencer that much.

Somehow Aaron could've sworn that Spencer was right there with them, a smile on his face.

* * *

Painfully far away from absolutely everything he'd learned to call a home Jason Gideon ran a cautious finger over one of the blooming, breathtakingly beautiful roses he'd managed to keep alive for a remarkably long time. It was such pure shade of white that shouldn't have even existed. He found himself sliding into days that he should've forgotten a long time ago. To days he missed so much that it _hurt_.

What was left of that world he once walked away from, anyway? He wasn't allowed to see any of those people he cared about. The team wasn't the same anymore. Spencer was…

He wiped his eyes although there wasn't any actual moisture, gritting his teeth as hard as he possibly could.

He fought to push himself through each and every day, he truly did. But what for? How much did he really have left to fight for, anyway?

All he had in this new, god-forsaken cabin were his memories. And roses. And a desperate hope that refused to die, no matter how much he tried to reason with himself.

"Jason Gideon?"

The female voice came so suddenly that he actually shivered, felt a tingle cross his whole body. It took a long time before he managed to turn around. What he found was a incredibly beautiful woman in a tiny dark blue dress who seemed to have mystery wrapped all around her. Wind played with her long, red hair while she gave him a smile, not taking off her large sunglasses.

Jason frowned and straightened himself, calculating how fast his fingers would be able to reach his concealed gun. "It's been a while since anyone called me that." His voice was tight, guarded. "How did you find me?"

The woman's smile didn't fade. "A… mutual friend asked me to deliver a message to you." She held a small pause, letting him process. "'I believe in happy endings, too.'" (1) With that she turned around and began to retreat towards the black car waiting for her.

Jason frowned, chills running down his spine. A deep frown sat on his face while another dangerous spark of hope bubbled under his skin. "Who are you?" he demanded.

She tilted her head and looked at him for a long time before making up her mind. "Irene." She opened the car's door and began to climb in. "Patience, Jason. There's a storm coming." With those words lingering in the wind she drove away.

Jason stared at the cloud of dust and leaves for a long time, unaware of the smile on his face while understanding began to dawn.

* * *

/ _While John was in a infuriatingly long surgery to have the bomb in his head removed Sherlock paced around restlessly, like a trapped wild animal, until he came to a conclusion that there was at least someone he could try to help. Carefully making sure that no one was listening he took his cell phone and dialed numbers. It took torturously long before there was a response._

_"Sherlock?" Molly Hooper sounded stunned and overjoyed. "Oh… my god…! Are you…?"_

_Deciding that he wasn't about to waste a single second on pointless chitchat Sherlock went straight to business. "That American coroner you met at a conference… Does he still owe you a favor?"_

_Molly didn't even try to ask how in the world he could possibly know. __"I… uh… __Yes." She cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed. "Why… are you asking?"_

_Sherlock inhaled. "Because I have feeling that someone is going to die." He had to pause when a orderly passed by. "And… I need you again."_ /

* * *

A lone person made their way through a cemetery, the steps slow and hesitant.

There was a time when Emily Prentiss found cemeteries calm, almost comforting. Those days had disappeared long since. She'd buried far too many people she cared about to feel at peace with the constant presence of death and tragedy.

She was relieved when her journey was finally completed, for she had no idea how much longer she would've been able to keep on walking. Relieved, despite the fact that seeing _his_ name on the stone still tore her heart to pieces. Even today her eyes blurred slightly and she had to wipe them, smudging her makeup in the process.

_Spencer Reid_

_A son, a friend, a brother_

_Never forgotten_

She cleared her throat, wondering if she'd even be able to speak. Apparently she was. "I… I'll only be in the country for a few more hours. But… I had to come and see you. One last time. Because… I don't think that I'll ever set my foot into States again." She wiped her eyes, what it did to her appearance be damned. Her voice broke and it took painfully long to find it again. "I… I'm so sorry, Spence. That I… That I came too late. That I couldn't…" She trailed off. All words sounded so hollow and pointless, somehow. The weight sitting on her chest nearly made her lose her breath. "I… I dream about you every night, you know? Not just about the fall. And… Sometimes I forget. That you're gone, I mean. I talk to you. Or then I run into this totally ridiculous thing and think that you'd know every single statistic about it. I think that I've called you at least ten times, now."

Emily's whole body shook pitiably while she knelt down and placed the flowers she'd brought to the grave. Just then a breeze of wind picked up and she could've sworn that she felt a touch, for just a second. She inhaled sharply, unable to swallow down the lump in her throat.

"I… I miss you", she whispered to the wind. "I always will. Because… Don't tell the others, but… You were my favorite. There'll never another you." She caressed the stone with one hand, hating how cold it felt under her fingertips. Some tears rolled without her noticing. "Thank you, for everything. Watch over Robbie and me, will you?"

She turned to leave when she noticed a woman who'd just put a candle to a place that was meant for those whose lost loved ones were buried so far away that they couldn't visit their graves. Long, neatly tied brown hair. Sad blue eyes. Just a few years above her age perhaps, but aged by the loss.

Emily could've sworn that she felt some heat on her cheeks. "I'm… sorry. I thought that I was alone."

The woman smiled. "That's quite alright, dear." There was thick, warm British accent. "I talk to my son all the time, too. Sometimes it helps."

Emily nodded and gave the woman a brief and tight, polite smile, beginning to walk away.

"Emily?" The woman's voice was even softer than before, made it impossible not to listen. "Don't stop believing in miracles just yet. You're hardly as alone as you think you are."

Emily knew that she should've asked. Should've at very least questioned. But somehow she couldn't. Instead she swallowed, then walked away as fast as she could.

She broke down into soundless sobs as soon as she made it to her rental car where Robert Greenaway was waiting, fast asleep. But somehow the tears weren't those of misery this time.

* * *

/ _Some incredibly short months ago that same woman – Dr. Dana Delaney – sat in a van right next to her husband, Dr. Daniel Delaney, both of them fallen into a deep silence. It was a surprise, to say the least, to receive a phone call from a man they'd both imagined dead. Yet when he asked them to come neither hesitated._

_This was a man who helped catch the killer of their sweet little boy and five other children, after all._

_The forest spreading nearby was already dark when they parked and emerged, Daniel using a flashlight to keep them from stumbling. They hadn't walked more than about ten steps until they froze. Sherlock Holmes was standing right before them._

_Dana gasped, Daniel's eyes widened before he sputtered a uncomfortably loud "Bloody hell…!", six years out of England be damned._

_Sherlock didn't seem to even notice. There was a sharp look in the man's eyes. "Are you sure that no one saw you?"_

_Daniel nodded slowly, blinking furiously. "Yes, of course." He frowned. "What… do you need?"_

_Sherlock seemed to inhale sharply. It wasn't until then they saw all the blood coloring his clothes. He didn't seem to be hurt, though. "I need you to help me try and save someone. And then I need you to hopefully lie to the police and press. Can you do that?"_

_Dana replied without any hesitation. "Yes. Where's the patient?"_ /

* * *

Sherlock Holmes didn't know how long he'd been sitting in front of John's laptop, staring at the screen with his chin leaned into his hands and far gone in his Mind Palace, when the flat's door opened. His eyes shifted only slightly to see John entering. Only slightly, yet he saw far more than enough.

No limp. No stiffness. No tremor in those hands. Perhaps that useless woman had actually managed to do some good, after all.

John sighed while taking off his wet jacket. The sound was rather irritated than gloomy. "The weather out there in unbelievable! And it took far too long to catch a bloody cab." The doctor frowned, nearly scowled, upon taking in the sight of him and the computer. "Sherlock, is that… my laptop?"

Sherlock shrugged, resisting the urge to scoff at the obviousness of it all. "Mine is in my room. I asked you to fetch it for me two hours ago."

John groaned, running a hand through his wet hair. "I've been gone for the past… what, eleven hours!" The doctor sighed exasperatedly, yet the detective couldn't help catching a hint of warmth in those eyes. "Have you even eaten anything since yesterday?"

Sherlock shrugged. His eyes were glued on the laptop's screen yet he never stopped keeping an eye on his blogger. "I'm thinking, John. Food would be a hindrance."

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's what you keep saying until you pass out." The doctor sighed. "I'd better prepare you something to eat. I'm starving, too." The doctor, however, didn't move.

Curious, Sherlock gave his friend a look. John was looking at him with odd, impossibly warm and nearly moist eyes. There was a faint smile on the man's face, such he couldn't remember seeing in forever. Such he'd missed. "What?"

John shook his head. "Sentiment, that's all." The doctor began to make his way towards the kitchen.

When Sherlock could be sure that John was actually occupied by fixing them something to eat, muttering about severed body parts upon doing so, he refocused on the laptop. His eyes drank in the brand now code that'd just been added to his site. It was clever, surely, but hardly impossible to crack. Slowly, slowly a small grin made its way to his face when the words began to make sense.

'_All pawns are in position. The game is on._'

* * *

/ _Dana and Daniel were led to what was easily one of the most bizarre sights they'd ever encountered. On the wet, muddy forest floor lay two almost identical bodies. It took the longest time before they noticed that one of them was in fact breathing._

_"Christ…!" Dana sputtered, her eyes growing to a comical size._

_In a flash the couple was assessing the injured man's condition, not bothering to even wonder who the poor sod was. A lot of wounds and bruises. Definitely a concussion. Highly likely broken ribs if that ragged breathing was anything to go by. Possibly other broken bones. The greatest corcern, however, was the gunshot wound to abdominal area. The young man was hypothermic and burning up with fever at the same time._

_"Well?" Sherlock demanded, only the slightest shiver in that voice betraying the true emotions._

_Dana swallowed. It was Daniel who spoke. "He's… lost a lot of blood. And his wounds are severe. Honestly, I think it's incredible that he's made it this far." Her husband's brown eyes were full of steel and worry. "We need to get him out of here, fast."_

_Sherlock nodded, his sharp eyes darting around. "I agree. That useless search party will be back at dawn. Moran's men may also be looming nearby. We don't have any time to waste."_

_Together they managed to get the surprisingly light man into the back of the van, the couple trying not to think about the body they left behind. Their faces gained identical looks of surprise when Sherlock offered them blindfolds._

_"We're going somewhere I swore to keep a secret", Sherlock explained. "Impatience was shining through. "Now put those on. We're wasting time."_

_They drove for what felt like ages. When they finally stopped it took at least ten minutes before the car's doors were opened and a group of strangers appeared, taking the injured man away. They were led into a building that smelled of candle wax and dust. Everywhere around them murmuring could be heard. Women, occasionally joined in by Sherlock's much deeper voice._

_When the blindfolds were finally removed they were in a small, painfully bright room the reeked sterile. Spencer lay on what looked like a makeshift OR table. Medical equipment was scattered everywhere._

_"Well?" Sherlock demanded. "Is that everything you need?"_

_Daniel nodded slowly, a look of intense concentration on his face. "In the ideal situation I'd like to perform a blood transfusion but I suppose that nothing about this is ideal." Her husband glanced towards Sherlock with a tender look on understanding she knew very well. "We'll do whatever we can. Just like you did for our little boy. I promise."_

_Sherlock nodded back. Somehow the look in the detective's eyes was much deeper and far more meaningful than any vocalized 'thank you'. The Brit cast a one more look towards the injured man, as though saying goodbye, then left._

_Almost three days later Dana and Daniel emerged, just like they'd promised, dressed up as hikers and announcing that they'd found SSA Dr. Spencer Reid's body._ /

* * *

In a small internet café very, very far away a young man with long and somewhat greasy, hey colored hair and greyish-blue eyes that were framed by thick glasses finished his session. Marcus Trevors, a university student who'd just accepted a rather bizarre deal. "Well, that was it." He started to turn his head. "Just out of curiosity… You paid me fifty bucks for posting that thing. What…?"

The man who paid him was nowhere in sight. For a few moments Marcus sat absolutely still. Then pocketed the money and excited the café. He never thought of the stranger again.

Already having left the café a long time ago the man who paid sat in a metro, letting his gaze linger on the window's reflection for a brief moment.

Black, slightly overgrown hair. A pair of piercing blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses that had black frames. A long black jacket, underneath that a purple shirt and a pair of neat, black pants.

The man he saw was clearly Hamish Gummings, not Dr. Spencer Reid, just as had been planned from the beginning.

Spencer took a deep breath, fiddling on the golden band sitting around his left ring finger. It was far more than a part of his disguise. It was a symbol of a promise he'd fight to keep until the moment he'd pull his last breath.

A promise to his team, his family, every single one of those he held dear.

_The war isn't over – I will come back._

It'd taken far too long to recover enough. Unlike Sherlock once upon a time he fell for real and became injured accordingly. It was more than a small miracle that he was still alive, especially considering that he wasn't able to go to a proper hospital. He even woke up in the company of another ghost.

* * *

/ _"You've slept long enough, darling."_

_Spencer's stubborn, impossibly heavy eyelids inched open frustratingly slowly. He inhaled several deep, slightly ragged breaths before managing to catch a sliver of the woman sitting beside his bed. A hint of pale skin and red hair. Of a somewhat dangerous little smirk. After what felt like a small eternity he was finally able to see more._

_The woman beside him had long, red hair but that didn't fool him long. A frown appeared while his head attempted to comprehend. Yes, this was definitely Irene Adler – a FBI agent was bound to know someone with her reputation. But how…? "You're…", he rasped, hating the way his voice sounded. "… dead."_

_Irene shrugged and chuckled. "So are you, darling. Sherlock is quite skilled when it comes to faking deaths. Yours almost became the real deal, though. You're a tough one, pretty boy."_

_Spencer's frown deepened while his thoughts kept spinning, making his crushing headache escalate exponentially. How… could he still be alive, after a fall like that? What was going on?_

_Clearly seeing the questions from his eyes Irene went on. "Sherlock found you. Don't worry your adorable head with the rest right now. This monastery is safe. These nuns owed Sherlock a big enough favor." It wasn't until he felt her hand stroking his hair he realized that he'd closed his eyes. "Sleep, Spencer. Just relax."_

_His mind floated away._ /

* * *

Yes, it was a sheer miracle that he was alive at all. If Sherlock had been too late to find him… If he'd been found by someone who worked for Moran instead… If Sherlock hadn't known the people he did… If a single wrong person should find out…

He'd been given a second chance. Something only few people were ever granted. And for now he was forced to live his new life in a exile.

Spencer gritted his teeth, the gun sitting hidden on his hip suddenly weighing a lot more than it should've.

This was what he had to do, for the sake of them all. Moran's whole web would have to go down before it'd be safe to return home. Otherwise he might end up losing everything he'd fought for, everything he still lived for.

The cell phone in his pocket bleeped. After a second of startle Spencer took the item and gave the text message a look. It was a picture, along with a name and an address. His first target.

Spencer took a deep breath and swallowed against the bitter taste sitting in his mouth. Pushed down the longing, the guilt, the pain. And stepped out of the metro when it reached the next station, blending into the crowd. Dead yet somehow far more alive than most of the people around him.

Taking his first step towards a home that was miles and miles away.

* * *

**_End._**

* * *

1) In case you didn't remember… This hints to Gideon's farewell letter to Reid. In it he wrote 'I believe in happy ending.' (grins)

* * *

A/N: Oh… my gosh…! It's OVER. (sobs, wiping eyes)

You guys, THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all of your love and support for this lil' fic! I was REALLY hesitant to ever get started with this but you've totally made me happy about my decision to go through with this. Every single review, listing and hit is greatly appreciated! (BEAMS, and hugs)

PLEASE, do leave a note before you take off, though, and let me know what you thought of this ending! Any good, at all…?

Once more, THANK YOU! Who knows, maybe we'll be typing again one day.

Take care!


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